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“You are, you know?” She laced her arms around my neck and leaned in close. “All mine.”
“And you’re mine,” I said.
“I am. Every last bit. Even the broken parts.”
“Perfect is overrated anyway. I happen to like you just the way you are.” I kissed the end of her nose and then lifted her wrist to my mouth, kissing the puckered skin there. “Your scars make you beautiful, Birdie.”
Emotion glittered in her eyes, but she smirked and said, “Yours make you kind of hot.”
“You think?”
“Oh, I know so.” She pressed closer, erasing the sliver of space between us, and fisted my shirt.
I liked this Harleigh. Playful and a little bit naughty.
But then, I liked all versions of her.
I always had.
And I always would.
Because love didn’t come with limitations. It was unconditional. Endless. To love her was to love all of her. Even the parts I didn’t fully understand yet. The parts I might never truly understand. But that was okay because we had time.
We had all the time in the world.
Starting from right now.
