Page 185 of That Rush

Her palm cups my jaw. “I know.”

By the time Josie is asleep and the kitchen is clean, the heat has broken enough for us to sit on the porch without the air clinging to our skin. Paige curls into the corner of the swing with her ankles tucked beneath my thigh. Loose strands drift around her face in the porch light. She tells me about a seven-year-old who tried to hide three graphic novels beneath his shirt as a protest against his mother’s ten-book limit.

“He was already checking out ten?” I ask.

“His mother lacks vision.”

“You encouraged the crime.”

“I admired the nerve. Then I made him put them back.”

“You’re a harsh woman.”

“I enforce limits. You should take notes.”

I run my thumb along her ankle. “I’m learning.”

She looks toward the dark outline of the ranch office. “You’re trying.”

There’s affection in the words, along with the warning I keep wanting to turn into a problem I can solve. I could ask what she sees when she looks at that room or whether she can imagine spending every Friday here. I could open my planner and show her how easily our lives fit when every obligation has a place.

Instead, I look at the woman beside me and tell her the one thing that doesn’t require a calendar.

“I love you.”

Her lips part, but no words come out. For the first time since I met her, Paige has no answer. The porch light hums. A moth beats against the screen. My own pulse hammers in my ears, loud enough to fill the quiet she’s left.

Then she shifts onto her knees and cups my face.

“I love you too.”

I pull her onto my lap and kiss her, my hand sliding beneath her ponytail as her mouth opens under mine. She presses close, warm and solid against me, and everything I’ve been building toward finally has a foundation.

When she draws back, her forehead rests against mine.

“Aiden,” she says.

“I know.”

“I also need you to hear the rest.”

My hand tightens at her waist. “Tell me.”

“Loving you doesn’t mean I have every answer tonight. It doesn’t tell us where I keep my books at Christmas or how many Fridays I spend here next year.” Her thumb moves across my cheek. “It means I love you. I choose you. Can that be enough for tonight?”

“Yes.”

It’s as honest as I can make it. It means pushing down the instinct to plan, to build, to make another list. For tonight, I can just hold her.

She studies my face. “Are you sure?”

“I love you, Paige.”

Her smile is soft and unguarded. “You really do.”

I stand with her still wrapped around me, earning a startled laugh as she locks her legs around my waist.

“What are you doing?”