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I kiss her again. She brushes her fingers through my hair, and I close my eyes for a second, letting myself enjoy the simple fact that she's touching me because she wants to.

Not because we're joking around. Not because she's had too much to drink. Not because either of us has mistaken the moment for something it isn't.

She's here.

She's sober.

She knows exactly who I am.

And she's choosing me anyway.

I shift closer, careful not to crowd her, and she makes room for me with a quiet laugh.

“What?” I murmur.

“Nothing.”

“Becks.”

She looks up at me.

“I just can't believe we're actually doing this.”

I rest my forehead against hers.

“Yeah.”

“You've thought about it?”

I let out a quiet laugh. “More than is probably healthy.”

She smiles. “Me too.”

I brush my thumb along her cheek. “Then we've got something in common.”

She shakes her head, amused. “We have lots of things in common.”

“Like what?”

“We both love Darcy.”

I snort. “That's a strong word.”

“Well, okay… we both love hockey.”

“You love hockey?”

“Well, parts of it.” She bats her lashes and I try not to read too much into what that means.

She's still smiling and I trace the edge of that smile with my thumb.

For years, I've wondered what it would be like to have her look at me this way. Now that she is, I don't want to waste a second pretending it doesn't mean anything.

“Becks.”

“Hmm?”

“We can take our time.”