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“Well,” she starts, “we were having a conversation this morning, and you didn’t even call me back to finish it.”
“Um—” I start to say, but she holds up her hand, and all I can do is raise my eyebrows.
“I don’t want to hear it right now, Cowboy,” she snaps at me. “I wanted to hear it this afternoon after you hung up on me.”
“I didn’t hang up on you.” I point at her. “I had to go.”
“Did you call me back?” She doesn’t even wait for me to answer. “You did not.”
“I called you, and it went straight to voicemail,” I correct her. “I even left a message.”
“Oh, big man left a message,” she mocks me.
“Did you come all this way to fight with me?”
“Yes.” She puts her hands on her hips and cocks one to the side. “Yes, I did, and I also came here to tell you something.”
“Yeah?” I shoot back, pissed that she hasn’t come to kiss me yet. She’s been standing in front of me and hasn’t even made an effort. “What’s that?”
“Well, I asked you what this was.” She points between us. “But you never asked me what I thought this was.” I glare at her. Did she come all this way to break up with me? I think to myself. “You were right,” she says, and I’m about to gloat when she glares. “It was a two-sided question.”
“Thank you.” I nod to her, holding my breath, waiting for her to talk. Hoping like fuck she’s not here to tell me that this thing is over between us because it’s not. I’ll fight every day of my life to show her we belong together. With each other. Always.
“So you gave me your answer. Are you interested to hear my answer?” She taps her foot like she’s been waiting a year for me to answer instead of a couple of seconds. My heart soars a little in my chest. “You told me what you want from me, and this is what I want from you. I miss you all the time,” she says, her hands going to her stomach. My hands itch to touch her and my babies. “Like all the time. I’m home, and I hate every minute of it. I feel lost.” She swallows down, and I take a step to her, but she shakes her head. “I want you to stand next to me in the kitchen and teach me how to cook. I want you to come home after work and give me the biggest hug I’ve ever had. I want you to slide into bed with me and hold me and bury your face in my neck, giving me small kisses. I want you to go with me for a walk in the forest where we hear nothing but our voices.” She wipes away the tear that escapes, and I’m giving her one more minute before I go to her. “That is what I want from you. And now I’ll tell you what I want from this,” she continues. “I want to live here with you. I don’t want to go back to New York unless I have a meeting I can’t do from here. I want to wake with you every day and do life with you. I want all of it.”
“I love you,” I blurt out, stopping her from talking. She gasps, and I wonder if maybe it was too early to say out loud.
“That’s not fair. I was the one talking.” She throws up her hands. “So it doesn’t count.”
“Oh, it counts.” I take the remaining steps to her. “It fucking counts. I said it first.” I wrap one arm around her waist while my hand goes to the side of her hair, tilting her head back and kissing the ever-loving shit out of her, pulling her to me, her chest plastering against mine. The kiss is long, it’s hard, and it’s wet. Her hands grip the sides of my shirt. “Does this mean you’re staying?”
“I haven’t decided.” She rolls her eyes. “Unless you say I said I love you first.”
“But, Sweetheart.” I smirk at her. My chest feels like it’s going to explode, but in a good way, like in the best way. “I can’t lie to you.”
“I said it first.” She stomps her foot. “Or I would have if you hadn’t charged me.”
“You still haven’t said it,” I remind her, and she glares at me, rolling her eyes.
“You have got to be kidding me!” she shrieks. “I’m standing here in front of you, telling you I want to move here and be with you.” My hand comes up to hold the other side of her head, and she wraps her hands around my wrist. “If that doesn’t say I love you, I don’t know what does.”
“Are you done yet?” I ask her about the rant she is having. “Where are your things?”
“At your house,” she says, and I shake my head.
“It’s our house, Sweetheart.” I smile at her, kissing her lips. “Did you bring all your stuff?”
“Most of it,” she tells me. “My parents are shipping the rest next week. But your dad came to the plane and helped me with all my luggage.”
“So that’s it, then?” I ask her. “No more going back to New York?”
“I have to go back when I have some meetings,” she assures me, “but no more going back to New York.”
I can’t help but smile big when she says that, and the nervousness of the past couple of hours washes away. “Sure took you long enough, Sweetheart.”
“Gabriel Jacob McIntyre,” she says my full name, “you have some nerve.”
“But you love me?” She closes her eyes.
