Page 56 of DFF: Delicate Freakin’ Flower (Family Ties #5)

Webb

I held my breath, every muscle in my body locked in place as her arms wrapped around me and her head came to rest against my chest. She was here—solid, warm, in the home I’d built with her in mind—but still, something in me refused to settle.

My heart pounded, caught in that limbo between hope and heartbreak, unsure whether to shatter or soar.

She hadn’t answered. Not really. And even with her this close, I couldn’t exhale.

I needed to hear it. I needed to know.

Then she lifted her head and looked up at me with those eyes I’d missed every single damn day since they took her away.

“I don’t want to live without you,” she whispered. “And I love the house, Webb. I love everything about it.”

I didn’t realize I’d been holding onto tension until it all let go in one long, ragged exhale.

“You sure I don’t have to walk through ice?” I asked, trying to steady the rasp in my voice with a half-smile.

I froze for a moment, swallowing hard as the weight of it all settled in. Then, with care, I lifted Gabby into my arms—holding her like something precious, something sacred—and carried her down the hallway toward the one room that had meant the most. The one I’d saved for last.

As I stepped into the bedroom, my arms still wrapped tightly around her, it felt like the air changed—heavier, quieter, almost reverent. This space was different. I’d built it for her. For us.

The walls were painted a soft mushroom tone, warm and calming, while the bedding—a pale cream I’d chosen on a whim—made me wonder if she’d like it.

The bed itself was brand new: solid and steady, wide enough for both of us to stretch out but still close enough to find each other in the quiet hours of the night.

I set her down gently, but her hands didn’t let go.

They slipped beneath the hem of my shirt, fingertips warm against my skin as she pushed the fabric upward.

I lifted my arms, letting her pull it over my head and toss it aside.

Her fingers moved slowly down my chest, tracing the lines of old scars and ink like she was trying to memorize every part of me, committing it all to memory in quiet reverence.

“You sure?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded, eyes never leaving mine. “I’ve never been surer of anything.”

I kissed her—slow, deep, and searching—and felt her hands move to the waistband of my jeans.

A low groan escaped against her mouth as she unbuttoned them, her touch surer than I’d expected, sending a jolt of heat straight through me.

I stepped out of them just as she pulled her top over her head, revealing smooth skin and soft curves that stole the breath from my lungs and sent a sharp ache through my chest.

Gabby was even more beautiful than I remembered, every detail sharper, more vivid, like time had only deepened what I felt.

As she lay back on the bed, her hair fanned out across the pillow, and her chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, her eyes never leaving mine.

I climbed in beside her, our legs tangling easily, naturally, as if no time had passed at all.

My mouth found her skin, trailing soft kisses from her collarbone to the hollow of her throat.

She arched into me, her body pressing close like she couldn’t get near enough, like the space between us had never belonged.

I didn’t rush. I took my time, letting every kiss speak for what I couldn’t yet say.

My lips traced a slow path across warm skin—along the curve of her neck, across one shoulder, down to the dip of her waist and the sensitive inside of a thigh, each place drawing a deeper response than the last. When I slid my hand between her legs, she gasped my name, the sound raw and unguarded, and I held onto it like something precious, tucking it away deep inside me.

Gabby was already wet when my fingers found her, the heat of her making my pulse stutter. Her hips lifted instinctively, pressing into my touch, and her fingers tightened around the sheets, knuckles white as she tried to hold on to something—anything—while I unraveled her.

“Webb,” she breathed, “please!”

I kissed her lips again, positioning myself above her, one hand braced beside her head, the other sliding along her hip. And when I finally pushed inside her, we both exhaled like we’d been holding our breath for months.

She wrapped her legs around me, drawing me in close as I moved slowly, deliberately, taking my time because this wasn’t about urgency—it was about us.

About feeling everything. Her nails grazed down my back in a way that sent a shiver through me, and when she said my name, it came out like a prayer and a promise all at once—soft, reverent, unforgettable.

We found a rhythm that felt both familiar and new, like muscle memory laced with something electric.

Her moans shifted into gasps, each one pulling me closer to the edge.

My control began to slip, unraveling thread by thread, but I held on—kissing her through the build, pulling her tighter against me, moving deeper with every breathless beat between us.

When she came again, clinging to me with a shudder and a cry, I followed her over the edge seconds later, the world blurring around the edges as everything else fell away.

The release tore through me, so intense it stole the strength from my limbs, and all I could do was collapse beside her, breathless and spent. I gathered her into my arms, her skin warm and slick with sweat, her heartbeat racing in sync with mine.

She didn’t speak right away—just curled into me like she’d always belonged there, like this was the place she was meant to be.

And the truth was, she did.

Neither of us moved as she lay curled in my arms, her skin still damp with sweat and her breath slowly evening out.

I didn’t want the moment to end. I wanted to stay right there, with her heartbeat pressed to my ribs, her scent lingering on my skin, and the quiet weight of peace settling over us like something rare and hard-won.

“I missed you,” she whispered against my chest.

“You have no idea,” I sighed, my hand tracing slow circles over her back.

She tilted her head, chin resting against my chest. “The Outer Banks were beautiful, but it was lonely. I wasn’t even allowed to talk to anyone.”

I gave a half-smile. “Except for Ira.”

She snorted. “Okay, yes, Ira found a way. He’s probably on a government watchlist now. He called every day and told me you were haunting the Home Depot gardening aisle and had opinions about hydrangeas.”

I groaned. “He would tell you that.”

She laughed, and damn, it felt good to hear it in person instead of in my dreams.

“I spent the whole time working on the house,” I admitted quietly.

“I needed something that kept me moving, something that made it feel like I wasn’t just sitting in the mess of everything.

So, I poured myself into it—pulled up the floors, smoothed out the walls, even replaced that faucet in the kitchen that never quite worked right.

I didn’t want it to just be a house anymore.

I wanted it to mean something. To feel like a place we could start over… a place that was ours.”

She looked around again, really seeing it this time. Her fingers brushed over the blanket folded at the edge of the bed. I’d picked it up because it reminded me of one she used to have on her couch.

Her expression softened. “This is more than a fresh start, it's perfect.”

Then the barking started—soft at first, distant, but unmistakable all the same.

She jerked and looked around us. “What the hell is that?”

Here we go.

I climbed out of bed, grabbed the robe I’d stashed nearby—sage green, soft as hell, and something I figured she’d like—and brought it back to her.

She held it up, eyes narrowing. “Is this mine?”

“It’s not my color,” I deadpanned. Seeing her shoulders moving with laughter, I explained, “Your clothes are all washed and in the closet. One of my brothers is picking up your bag from wherever they stashed it during the trial. We figured you’d want your stuff here, just in case you didn’t throw me out on my ass. ”

She slipped into the robe, and I held out a hand. “Come on, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

Gabby let me lead her down the hall, curiosity written all over her face. I stopped at the door, took a breath, and opened it slowly.

Inside, nestled in a cozy little room I’d outfitted with rugs and blankets and low light, was her— the shepherd mix from the compound. The one who’d fought harder than anyone that night. She looked up at us with her three legs and all her heart, ears twitching as she barked once—sharp and alert.

“She made it?” Gabby whispered, stepping closer.

“Yeah. Sadly, she lost the leg, but she’s tough as hell. The vet said she was lucky.” I knelt beside her and scratched behind her ear, and the dog leaned into me like we’d been doing this for years.

“She wouldn’t settle after the standoff,” he said.

“Jesse was carrying her out, but she started squirming, whining, and trying to get down. So, he set her on her feet, and she limped off into the trees. He followed, kept his distance, and she led him straight to this little hollow in the roots of a tree. That’s where he found them—three tiny puppies, whimpering and fragile. ”

Gabby knelt beside me, gently stroking my rescued princess.

“We got them all to the vet. She went into surgery, and the pups came home with me. I bottle-fed them because she was recovering and needed rest. Figured I’d wean them off when she healed, but by then, they thought I was their dad.”

Right on cue, the puppies—all a little plump and way too bold—tumbled into view. One barked. Another tripped over her own feet. The third beelined for Gabby and promptly tried to climb her leg.

“They’re…they’re yours?” she asked, wide-eyed.

I scooped up the black one—the loudest of the bunch—and nodded. “I think so? Wes tried to adopt one—took her home for the night—but she cried so much he said he felt like a monster and ended up bringing her back before midnight.”

Gabby was smiling now, full and soft. “You big saps.”

I shrugged, not even trying to deny it. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with them. They don’t like it when I leave the room.”

She picked one up, cradling her against her chest like a baby. “Sounds like they’re yours whether you planned it or not.”

I watched her then, really watched her—curled on the rug in her robe, holding a puppy, with that peaceful, glowing look on her face—and something in me finally clicked into place.

We were both home. Scratching the boldest of the puppy's stomachs, I had another epiphany: I hadn't planned for any of them, but they were all mine.