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“Hear what?”
“Not if. When,” he repeated
My heart rate ticked up.
I didn’t know what to say so I said nothing, hoping my heart would stop pumping over time, making my head fuzzy, so that I could think of what to say.
“If you don’t want kids, we’ll talk—”
“I want kids,” I blurted out.
His hand came up and cupped my jaw. His thumb glided over the apple of my cheek. The gentleness of it did nothing to slow my now erratic breathing.
“Then why’d your face go pale?”
Was he serious?
“Maybe because you just told me you wanted to have babies with me and that freaks me out.”
“Why does it freak you?”
Again, was he serious?
“Um.” I didn’t get any further because I couldn’t string a sentence together that was long enough to explain why him telling me he wanted babies with me would freak me the hell out.
“You love me?”
I felt my body jerk and my neck snap back. The movements were painful.
Terror leaked in.
Not fear that I loved him but bone-deep fear he didn’t love me back. Rationally, I knew he loved me. He’d never said it but he showed it. But there was nothing rational about my lungs burning and my heart thumping. There was nothing rational about worrying about those boxes in the basement. Every once in a while—not often, but sometimes—the irrational, scared part of me I’d yet to eradicate reared its ugly head.
“Why?” I stammered.
“Because I want you to say it so I can tell you how crazy in love I am with you. I want you to say it so I can feel it and lock it down deep so I’ll never forget the first time you gave me the words. I know you love me. But still I want the words, baby.”
If it was possible for a heart to explode with happiness and still keep pounding in a chest—that was what was happening to me.
Right there in Easton’s kitchen I felt like I’d died from happiness and had been resurrected by love.
Which only seemed fitting. It was because of him I laid Dove to rest, only keeping the parts of her I wanted. And with that, the real me was born.
Nebraska.
Easton’s Nebraska.
Zane’s Nebraska.
The Nebraska who belonged to a huge, obnoxious family that loved so hard it was scary to comprehend the enormity of their love.
“I love you,” I whispered.
“I love you, baby.” Easton did not whisper.
And now I knew why he wanted the words. They were soft and warm and blazed a trail to my soul.
“Unpack.”
