Page 32 of Hale Yeah, It’s You

When I hand him the bundle, he smiles knowingly, his fingers brushing mine again before I close the door and lean against it with a quiet breath.

The clothes he gave me—an oversized T-shirt and a pair of boxer briefs—make me laugh.

The briefs settle low on my hips, borderline scandalous, but the shirt is long enough to cover what needs covering.

My legs are bare, and my hair’s still a mess of damp curls, but I feel beautiful. Wanted.

I twist my hair back into my clip and leave the steamy bathroom to find Roman.

He’s kneeling in front of the fireplace, adding logs to the flames, the light dancing across his face. My breath catches. “Do they fit okay?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder.

“They’ll do,” I say, tugging at the waistband playfully before sinking into the loveseat.

He joins me, the heat from the fire and the nearness of his body making the room seem warmer than it is. My foot accidentally brushes his and he jolts.

“Geeze, Frankie, your feet are popsicles.” He laughs, reaching for the quilt draped over the back of the couch. He pulls it over us both, gently shifting me until my legs drape across his lap. “Let me fix that.”

His hands wrap around my feet—strong and warm. He rubs slow, deliberate circles into my arches, and I nearly melt. My eyes flutter closed as the stress leaves my body in waves.

“I thought you hated feet,” I murmur, sighing as he presses a thumb deeper into the ball of my foot.

“You remember that?” he asks.

“I remember a lot of things.” I remember everything, when it comes to you.

“I do find most feet repulsive.” He chuckles. “But I haven’t found a single inch of you I don’t want to touch. ”

My eyes fly open. He grins, cocky and sincere, and I squirm against the back of the couch, but his hands keep working their magic.

“Are you warm enough?” he asks.

“Mmhmm.” I pat the blanket. “I could get used to this.”

“Me too,” he says softly, and his hands never stop moving.

The fire crackles in front of us, the scent of smoke and soap and rain weaving into something comforting.

Somewhere behind us, the gentle thump of tumbling clothes hums in the dryer.

The rain taps softly at the windows, as if trying to remind us that the world still exists beyond these walls. But in here, it’s only him and me.

“You asked me a personal question earlier,” I say, shifting enough to thread my fingers through his under the blanket. “About kids. I told you I’d come back to it.”

Roman turns toward me, his eyes searching mine.

“I do want to have more children someday,” I say. “I love Alayna, I really do, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to experience creating and carrying a child with someone I love. It’s always been a dream of mine… to share that.”

His gaze drops to the fire again, unreadable for a moment. “I wasn’t sure,” he admits quietly. “If I wanted that. If I could be that.”

“You weren’t sure… or you’re still not?”

His fingers tense around mine. Then he looks at me, eyes raw and vulnerable. “The day you walked into the school with Alayna… when I thought, even for a second, that she might be mine… it hit me harder than I expected.”

“I’m sorry I let you think that,” I whisper.

“Don’t be. I made the assumption, not you.”

“But I should’ve said something.”

He shakes his head. “No. I’m glad you didn’t. Because I found myself wishing it were true… I wanted it to be true. I wanted her to be mine. Ours. ”

Emotion tightens my chest as his voice goes soft.

“Working with kids, I always felt protective, like a mentor. But now… now I want it all. I want to love someone so much that your love creates a whole new person. The late nights, the lullabies, the messy, beautiful chaos of parenthood. And I have you to thank for that.”

I sit up, climbing into his lap and wrapping myself around him like he’s the center of my universe. “You’d be amazing at it,” I say, pressing kisses along his jaw.

“That means everything coming from you,” he murmurs, his arms wrapping tight around me. “I know we’re not there yet. I’m not saying I’ve mapped out our future, but I want to be clear—I’m open to it. I want that life… with you.”

Words stumble over themselves in my brain, tangling into a heap on my tongue, refusing to unscramble into anything coherent.

There are at least a dozen ways I could respond to such a romantic declaration, but my tongue stays paralyzed.

So I do the only thing I can think to do—I press my lips against his and kiss him.

I kiss him with every piece of love I’ve ever stored up for him, praying the words will bleed through our kisses and settle into his soul.

The dryer buzzes, abrupt and uninvited. We both laugh, breathless against each other, the blanket around us suddenly too warm.

I know I need to go soon, give us both space to breathe, to make sense of all that’s happened tonight. As much as I want to stay here in his arms, I don’t want to rush things. Maybe call Sarah, work through all my feelings. Maybe sit in the quiet of my own room and replay this all again in my mind.

But as I rest my head against Roman’s shoulder, there’s one thing I don’t need to overthink—my heart is his, as it always has been. Maybe he never really let it go.