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“Danny, I already know ya. I know yer funny, loving, kind, crazy, and savage when necessary. Ya love blueberries in yer waffles but not yer pancakes.

“Ya don’t like to sleep hot, but ya get angry when I roll away for ya to cool off. Ya follow and snuggle right into me, but keep making this annoyed sound when ya heat up again.

“Ya get annoyed when I lose my accent for ya, but get frustrated when I speak too fast and use too many Irish colloquialisms. Ya have a quick mind, so ya figure it out because ya want to understand me the way I am, not a watered-down version.

“Yer a badass, but ya need the time when you get to be vulnerable with me. That’s why it turns ya on when I get dominant with ya.

“Ya write with passion, but ya also write to warn others that our world isn’t a playground for the weak. Ya don’t glorify what we do, but teach through it instead. It’s almost a love letter to yer innocence.

“Not that ya regret who ya are. I believe ya regret what ya have lost. Yer uncle, a few of yer businesses, people ya thought were friends. I wish I had the talent to do what ya do.

“Getting to know ya has changed so much for me. I know ya, Danika. I see ya,” I say as I look into her eyes.

“You read my books? You got all of that from reading my words? I always assume all of that goes over everyone’s heads, but you get me.”

“I get ya because I love ya.”

I’m not expecting her to say it back, but she shocks me when she releases a heavy breath before she drains her glass then takes mine from my hand and empties it as well. She then turns for the bottle, moving from my lap to the floor, where she begins to drink straight from the bottle itself.

I chuckle and lean to kiss her neck as I wrap my arms around her. She’s trembling in my embrace. I kiss the top of her head.

“Talk to me, love. What are ya thinking?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know how to feel or what to say. I’m on information overload.

“I’ve had the wind knocked out of me a few times today. I’m an author lost for words,” she snorts and downs more liquor.

“Then we don’t have to talk for now. Instead, we drink. When yer ready to talk, we’ll talk. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Thanks, you don’t know how much I needed to hear those words.”

* * *

Dean

“Oh my God,you and Cass were little terrors,” I say through my laughter.

I’ve been listening to Ronan tell stories about his childhood and laughing my ass off while we get shit-faced. This seems to be a safe topic. Ronan has frozen up on me a few times tonight.

It might be my drunken mind, but I think it’s mostly when I ask about children and women in his past. I haven’t pushed. We’re slowly doing something we should have done a long time ago.

I don’t know the last time I got this drunk. I needed this. My mother’s revelations didn’t erase my fears immediately—they enhanced them.

Hearing Ronan tell me he loves me didn’t help change anything. It only shook me to my core. I love him too.

In fact, I’m madly in love with him. I had no idea he read my books and had seen me through them. The more we talk, the more I’m letting my guard down and finding I know him as well.

Now that I’ve allowed the blinders to fall off, I can admit to the things I’ve known all along. Ronan couldn’t be a better match for me. However, there’s still the elephant in the room.

My mother wants us to get married. She said it’s her dying wish. My heart hurts every time I think of her words.

“Yer doing it again. Where does yer mind keep going, love?”

I sigh and go to have another drink, but the bottle is empty. I look around at all the others we’ve finished and my shoulders sag. The answers haven’t been at the bottom of any of these.

“What if she’s gone before I can figure out what to do? I only froze my eggs because of her. I’m okay with never being a mother. Look at me? What kind of mom would I be?”

He sits silent for a moment. There goes that look again. I can’t help but wonder what he’s holding back.