Page 121 of From West, With Regret

“You promised you would find me again, but you’ve always been here.” I point to my temple, then I move his hand to my heart, placing my hand over his. “And here.”

West leans in, letting his crutch clatter to the brokenfloorboards of the storage room, the memories of all the drawings I created in here alive and breathing in these four walls.

“I found you,” West whispers against my mouth. “Now, I get to keep you.”

He twists around and picks up a small piece of charcoal I’d left on one of the shelves. Rolls of toilet paper now cover the shelf, and I wonder, even after all these months and the clean up after Heath destroyed this room, how my piece of charcoal remained here.

Holding my left hand in his, West singles out my ring finger.

Tears build behind my eyes, and I look up at West. His gaze is gripped on me as he holds the tip of the charcoal to the end of my finger, just above my gold ring. He has the same look in his blue eyes as he did that day at the funeral when he’d written his phone number on the inside of my forearm.

“I know we talked about this last night, but I want to officially ask you.” His voice drops, and heat pools in my belly as he drags the charcoal across my skin. He draws a thin line, then flicks his gaze back up. “Will you marry me, Dimples?”

I look down at my hand, at the ring he’s drawn on me. I’ve never felt more at peace or more whole than I do today. I’ve barely nodded my head and uttered the word “Yes” when he wraps his hand around the back of my head and crashes his mouth against mine, sealing my answer to his.

“Yes,” I breathe.

Then he kisses me like he knows he gets to kiss me this way forever.

And he does.

It seems my heart wasn’t broken after all.

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