Page 109

That was before Keegan. Before Fen. Before I understood that having somewhere—someone—to return to wasn’t a trap but a lighthouse.

“Let’s go see the rest,” I suggest instead of answering, leading her through the space.

I show her the kitchen with its marble island and copper fixtures, the dining area that could easily seat all of her girls, as she calls them, and the balcony that wraps around the corner of the building. Each room pulls another small sound of appreciation from her, and each sound winds me tighter. Not only to this place, but to her.

I fall in love with it as Tinsley said I would. It’s perfect. It absolutely is, and I’m excited. But I’m dying at her reaction, wanting, hoping that she falls just as much in love with it as I am.

We’ve gone through space after space, bedroom after bedroom. It’s a large flat. There’s a lot of space to cover, and it’s certainly more room than I’ve ever lived in, let alone owned. It should make me sweat to spend this sort of money, but it doesn’t. It’s going to be our home. I hope.

“There’s one more room,” I tell her, guiding her down a hallway.

I open the final door and step back, letting her enter on her own. It’s smaller than the other bedrooms but larger than a typical office. The outer wall is glass, offering a view of the park below, now just a dark expanse dotted with pathways of light. Against the adjacent wall is a gas fireplace flanked by large built-in bookshelves, empty and waiting for her to hopefully fill them how she wants. On the wall of windows is a desk. A heavy, wooden piece they didn’t bother to remove when they movedout. Its surface is gleaming cherry wood, with drawers and cubbies designed for a writer’s needs.

At least that’s my hope.

When I saw it in the pictures, it was done for me. The rest of the flat is gorgeous and has what Fen and I need. But this is for Keegan, and it’s what she’ll need for her writing.

Keegan stands uncommonly still, and for a moment I fear I’ve miscalculated again. Then I see her shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath.

“This is your office,” she says finally, turning to me. It’s not quite a question.

I almost laugh. “What would I need an office for?”

She doesn’t reply.

“No,” I correct gently. “It’s yours. For your writing, I figured.”

Her eyebrows pull together. “I don’t understand.”

“I know you said you didn’t want to move in with me. That it was all too fast. It likely is, and that’s all well and good. I’ll be patient.” I laugh and run a hand through my hair. “I’lltryto be patient.” I step closer to her and take both her hands in mine. “When I saw the pictures of this place, this room, other than the obvious benefits of the building, this is what sold it for me.”

“Why?”

“Because I was hoping you’d see this room and see all that it could be for you. I was hoping you’d look at me and decide you couldn’t live without it, just as Fen and I can no longer live without you.”

“Loomis—”

“I want you to move in with me. With us. With me and Fen. I want this room filled with your books and your laptop and your mess. I don’t want you going to another home at night or waking up in a bed that’s not mine. Not ours,” I correct and swallow hard. “If you still need that…” Fuck, I’m rambling. “Fine. That’s fine. I get it. It’s all so fast. It is. But I don’t want to wait anymore,Keegan. I’m done with the fear. I don’t want to take it slow. Not with you.”

Her fingers tighten around mine, her pretty green eyes glistening with emotion. “What do you want?”

“Everything,” I say without hesitation. “All of it. Everything we had on the island and more. Now. You, here, me, us. I want your organizational mania and your terrible cooking experiments that you think are delicious and the way you hog the covers?—”

“My cooking is not terrible,” she protests weakly.

“It’s creative,” I amend diplomatically. “Your eggs were terrifying. I think there is a reason why Kenna mostly cooks. Regardless, I want the sound of your keyboard clacking because you’re on a deadline. I want your off-key singing in the shower, which yes, you do, so don’t bother arguing. I want your meticulousness and perfection and coffee at all hours, oftentimes in different mugs. I want the fact that you hate tea but are willing to try it for me. I want how you protect Fen as if you love him as much as I do. I want to argue about whether the manny we hire is the sort of bloke we can trust not only with Fen, but with all our children one day.”

I hadn’t planned to say all of this. I’d practiced something more restrained, more cautious. But standing here, watching her eyes go liquid with emotion, I can’t find those careful words.

“I love you,” I say simply. “I never thought I could say that to anyone and mean it. Not like this. I’ve hidden my feelings and bottled up my love for so long. I’ve spent my life running in the other direction, but I can’t help but run toward you. I love you so much, Keegan Fritz, and I want this life with you.”

She touches my face with trembling fingers. “I was so careful not to hope for this.”

“Hope for it now,” I whisper, turning my face to kiss her palm. “Trust that it’s real and not just a holiday fling or a safetynet so I keep Fen. Say yes because you love me too, and it feels good to be reckless and defy the odds.”

Instead of answering, she rises on her toes and presses her mouth to mine. The kiss is soft at first, a feather touch that asks permission. I grant it by pulling her closer, one hand at the small of her back, the other buried in the thickness of her hair.

“Okay,” she murmurs against my lips. “Yes.”