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A laugh bursts out. “I can’t. I still have work; I can’t just call in sick for two weeks.”

“Then come for Thanksgiving. I have a couple of games; I’ll get you tickets in the family box.”

“Where will I stay?”

“Luna,” he says in a disbelieving tone. “There’s only one place you’ll stay when you’re with me. And that’s my fucking bed, wrapped in my arms.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

ZACH

Three days, three whole days, and four entire nights of keeping her to myself.

Personally, I’d like to hole up in my apartment and not resurface for the entire time.

But the next best thing is that I get to have her in my family box, sitting next to our friends and cheering me on.

I’m stoked. No, I’m fucking thrumming with excitement and anticipation, waiting for her to walk through arrivals. Her plane landed half an hour ago, so I know the next flight to walk through these double doors is likely to be hers.

Three and a half fucking months without her near me was rough. But not having a whole lot of contact and trying to respect her space has nearly killed me.

Maybe the flowers were too much? I look down at the bright pink roses wrapped in even brighter pink paper.

They’re too much; I look too needy.

Shit. Thanks, Jon, for convincing me it was “a hundred percent the right move.”

I look left and right. Where do I stash them? Feels like a waste to throw them in the trash.

There’s a tap on my shoulder from behind. “Zach?”

I swivel on my heel and lock eyes on her warm coffee gaze. The one I’ve craved for way too long.

My dream girl.

I know she is. I knew it before she left, but after pining for her for months, I’m damn sure.

“Oh, hey.” I look back over my shoulder at the double doors. “I thought you would come through those.”

She smiles sweetly and then looks down at the roses as I awkwardly hand them to her.

“You bought me flowers?” She tucks a lock of silky auburn hair behind her ear, and today, she has a tiny yellow bow pinning one side back. Fuck me, she’s beautiful.

“Umm…yeah.”

Christ, this is embarrassing.I’m going to murder Jon.

Taking the flowers, she reaches up on her tiptoes, planting a kiss on the underside of my jaw.

“Where’s your suitcase?”

She shrugs. “I packed heavily last time.” She loops her thumb under the strap of the large black carry-on bag she has on her shoulder. “Figured I’d rein it in a bit.”

I take the bag from her and swing it over my arm.

“It suits you.” She giggles, and it's then I notice the brightly stitched flowers along the side. “Why, thanks.”

Interlacing her fingers through mine, it’s like her life source breathes into me as I feel her skin for the first time in too long.