Page 154 of His Surrender

Perfect.

I weave through the hallway, holding Dean’s hand as we climb the staircase as quietly as two adults possibly can.

He chuckles behind me. “I feel like we’re sixteen.”

“I know.”

At the end of the hallway, I push open the last door on the right.

My bedroom. Well … my childhood bedroom. The pale blue walls are still covered with framed photos from high school.

A shelf lined with old volleyball trophies stretches beneath the window.

My bookshelf is exactly where I left it.

Even the quilt my grandmother made sits neatly folded across the foot of the bed.

Dean steps inside slowly, taking it all in.

“So”—he smiles— “this is where you grew up.”

I nod as my eyes scan the room that I haven’t been in since I moved to the city.

He walks over and sits on the edge of my bed. The mattress dips beneath his weight.

I stop in the middle of the room, just staring at him.

He notices almost immediately. “What?”

I shake my head, laughing softly to myself. “You have no idea how weird this is.”

His eyebrows lift. “Weird?”

“My teenage crush”—I gesture toward him— “is sitting on my bed.”

He laughs, looking around the room with renewed interest. “So, this is where all those dangerous thoughts started?”

I cover my face with both hands. “Oh my gosh.”

He stands up and walks over to me. “I’m kidding.”

“You are absolutely not kidding.”

His grin grows. “I might not be.”

I watch him as he walks around, looking at every little object on my shelves. He finally settles at my desk, which still has framed pictures from high school. He spins around and leans against the desk, arching his eyebrows at me.

I walk over until I’m standing between his knees.

“You know”—I smile— “fifteen-year-old Aubrey would’ve completely lost her mind by now.”

Dean’s hands settle gently on my hips. He looks up at me with that same impossibly soft expression he always reserves just for me.

“I’m pretty sure thirty-four-year-old Dean is having the exact same problem.”

I laugh, then lean down and kiss him, unable to think of a better way to celebrate the fact that somehow, against every expectation I’ve ever had, the boy I spent years dreaming about became the man who couldn’t make it through Thanksgiving without finding an excuse to see me.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE