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It took me a few minutes to catch my breath and return to my body, which I swore I had left for a moment or two.

Bar none, this was the most incredible sex I had ever had.

What Pats and I had done when we were teenagers didn’t even come close to comparing.

Nor did anything I had experienced with one of my other handful of boyfriends.

The orgasms—yes, plural—Patrick had wrung from me had even outdone any of my solo handjobs.

When I finally came to my senses, I remembered him screaming not only my name, but also, I love you. I fucking love you. It had been ten years since I had last heard him say those words.

"I love you too, Pats," I admitted, opening my eyes to look at his sweat-soaked face. His black pupils were so large, they had pushed all the whiskey color out, leaving only a tiny amber halo. They were so deep black, I could see my reflection.

My hand moved up to cup his rough cheek, watching his face descend on mine until our foreheads met. We pursed our lips and exchanged soft little kisses. "I love you so much, Ells, it hurts."

"I know," I admitted. There was still the shadow of an ache in my chest, but it didn't hurt anymore.

We stayed like that for a while. Breathing. Touching. Lips brushing, skin still humming from everything we’d just given each other. His arm tightened around me as if he thought I might slip away again. I wasn’t going anywhere.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

Patrick pulled back just enough to look at me, brow furrowed. “For what?”

“For… back then. For never asking about Thorne. For acting like the bear in you wasn’t part of you.

” My fingers traced the edge of his jaw, slow and reverent.

“You always made space for me to be everything I was—messy, anxious, overly ambitious—and I didn’t make room for you to be whole.

I just pretended like the parts I didn’t understand weren’t there. ”

He was quiet for a beat, his hand smoothing down my back.

“You were seventeen,” he said finally.

“So were you.”

“Yeah, but I still could’ve tried harder to explain. I could’ve fought harder to show you all of me, instead of just the parts I thought you could handle.”

Tears welled unexpectedly, but I didn’t try to blink them away. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like you had to hide.”

“You didn’t make me,” he said gently. “But you not asking? It made it easier to believe that if I showed you the rest of me, I’d lose you.”

I shook my head. “You didn’t lose me because of the bear, Patrick. You lost me because you broke up with me.”

His jaw tightened. “I know.”

“But I get it now. I really do.” I cupped his cheek again, thumb brushing just under his eye. “And I promise, from now on, I want all of it. You. Thorne. Everything.”

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to my forehead that felt more like a vow than anything either of us had said out loud.

“I’m yours, Ells,” he said against my skin. “Always was. Always will be. And I swear that I will prove it to you for the rest of our lives.”

My throat clenched. My chest felt too full. Like there wasn’t enough room inside me for everything I was feeling.

“I’m yours too,” I whispered. “Even when I didn’t want to be. Even when I tried not to be.”

He kissed me again. This time it was slow and lingering, just as tender as it always used to be.

Then we just lay there, tangled in each other, wrapped in a blanket of promises, sweat, and heartbeats trying to find their rhythm again.

For the first time in a decade, I wasn’t holding anything back.

Patrick’s fingers drifted lazily over my bare shoulder.

“I missed you every damn day,” he murmured. “Even when I tried not to.”

“I know,” I whispered. “I missed you, too. Even when I was pretending to be over it.”

He smiled softly, eyes still closed. “You did a good job pretending.”

I scoffed. “I cried into a salad once because the dressing reminded me of you. So let’s not pretend I was emotionally stable.”

He laughed, warm and low, his chest shaking against mine. “Caesar?”

“Lemon vinaigrette. Which is insulting, honestly. You weren’t even a vinaigrette guy.”

“I’m whatever the hell you need me to be,” he said. “Even lemony and suspiciously healthy.”

I laughed so hard I had to bury my face in his chest again, tears slipping out for an entirely different reason now.

“I love you,” I said into his skin.

“I love you more,” he said without missing a beat.

“Impossible.”

“Watch me.”

We lay there for a while longer, our legs tangled, his fingers drifting through my hair like he couldn’t quite believe I was real. Eventually, I pulled the sheet up a little higher, just to keep the moment cocooned between us.

“You know what we should do tomorrow?” I asked.

“Don’t say hike,” he groaned.

“I was going to say make waffles, but now that you’ve insulted me, I am saying hike.”

Something rumbled so hard inside him, I felt it. "What was that?"

“Thorne objects,” Patrick answered dryly.

“Tell Thorne he can have an extra waffle.”

He grinned. “He says we have a deal.”

I smiled into his skin and let myself close my eyes.

This bear shifter thing was still weird, like we had a ménage à trois going or something like that, but strangely, it didn't bother me. Thorne was part of Patrick, and I loved him. For the first time in years, the future didn’t look like a cliff.

It looked like a trail. And maybe—just maybe—we were finally walking it together.

Suddenly, he sat up, with a serious expression painted on his face, "Marry me."

I blinked, "What?"

"Marry me, Ella. Let us continue this. Let me give you everything. Let me spend the rest of my life making up for the pain I caused. For every day I wasn’t there.

For every night I should have been holding you.

Let me give you a hundred slow dances, a thousand mornings with waffles, every stupid little thing I remember about you—and all the things I still want to learn. ”

I stared at him with a heavy thudding heart.

He was serious. This wasn’t a dreamy, planned proposal.

There was no ring box. No candlelight choreography.

He was still naked under the sheets, his hair a mess, his lips red from kissing me too hard.

His chest rose and fell like he was bracing for me to rebuke him.

But I wasn't sure I wanted to.

You're not seriously considering this ?

I am! I think I am!

And the more I thought about it, the more the idea made sense.

Not in a whirlwind-romance, swept-off-my-feet kind of way—but in a quiet, inevitable way.

Like something that had always been meant to happen.

I used to imagine it, back when we were young and stupid and thought forever was just something you said when you kissed someone on a football field.

I had dreamed of being Mrs. McCloud long before I knew how much that name would come to mean.

Sure, on paper it might look fast. But paper didn't know what we’d been through. Paper didn’t know how many nights I’d cried over him, or how many times I’d rehearsed what I’d say if I ever saw him again. We’d already lost ten years. I wasn’t willing to waste any more.

Still, the old habits crept in. The need to justify. To defend. To prepare a list of bulletproof reasons for people who might not even be listening.

Was it fast? I guess it depended on how you looked at it. We certainly hadn’t just met. We’d known each other for half our lives. We’d loved each other for longer than we’d ever admit out loud. And if love was the measuring stick, we were already late.

But then I caught myself. Justify? Why was I even thinking like that? Who was I trying to convince?

It was my life. His life. Our life. No one else’s.

And truthfully, I already knew what the people who mattered would say. Carol would cry and then threaten to strangle him if he ever hurt me again. Henry would do a happy dance and probably ask us when we were having grandkids before we even cut the cake.

My mother… well. My mother was her own category. An unpredictable one. But her opinion didn’t get to dictate my happiness anymore.

And Gabe?

I paused there, unsure. We’d never been close.

When Patrick and I were together the first time, Gabe had been off chasing football and building a life that took him far from family dinners and awkward family parties.

We’d exchanged polite small talk at holidays and smiled for a few group photos, but I wasn’t even sure he knew how serious it had been between me and Patrick back then.

So what was I waiting for?

“I—” I started, then stopped, because my voice was all tangled up in my chest.

His expression faltered, just a crack around the edges. “Too soon?”

“Yes,” I said softly. “And also... no.”

His brow furrowed. I reached out and rested my palm over his heart. “You’re asking me to marry you naked, after bear-chasing me through the woods and wrecking me in a cabin bed, Pats.”

He gave a half-smile. “When you say it like that, it sounds romantic .”

“It sounds like something Carol would write,” I muttered, but I was already grinning.

“Then say yes,” he murmured. “And let’s write the rest together.”

I stared at him, at this man who knew every part of me—my ambition, my fear, my need for control, my inability to function if I showed up somewhere two minutes late—and still wanted me. All of me. And maybe that was what finally made me whisper, “Okay.”

His whole body stilled. “ Okay ?”

“Yes,” I said, a little louder, a little braver. “I’ll marry you.”

Patrick’s grin was instant, boyish, and suffused with relief . He hauled me back into his arms, pressing kisses to my cheeks, my mouth, my neck—anywhere he could reach. Thorne rumbled low in his chest like a bear version of a wedding march.

"I can't believe you said yes. Ells, I swear I will never, ever hurt you again. I?—"

I put a finger on his lips. "Let's let the past be just that, Pats. Let's concentrate only on the future."

“We need a ring,” Patrick said, laughing into my hair.

“Yeah,” I said, breathless. “And clothes. Maybe start with clothes.”

“Right,” he agreed. “Clothes. Ring. Cake. Officiant. Tiny woodland creatures as flower girls?—”

“ No woodland creatures ,” I warned, shoving him back into the pillows. "And you better know now. I want a big wedding. I want the whole fairy tale thing."

"You got it." He said, eyes alight with happiness. "How soon do you think we can pull this off?"

Judging by the look on his face, I was pretty sure he wouldn't want to wait the year it normally took to plan a big wedding.

Hell, I didn't want to wait a year. I had waited ten years.

It was insane. I was insane. I knew it with every beat of my heart, but I also knew that I wanted this.

More than I had ever wanted anything before. "How about this fall?"

"That's what?" He scrunched up his face, "Six months, seven?"

"Something like that," I nodded.

"Any chance you'll elope with me to Vegas?"

Grinning, I shook my head.

"I didn't think so. A fall wedding it will be." Then his face lit up even more. "That will give me just enough time to build you that house."

"What house?"

"The one you always dreamed of, the one with the fireplace in the bed and bathroom.

The one with the white picket fence and the wrap-around veranda.

With a large park, a pond, and a swimming pool.

Indoor and out. With the huge kitchen with two islands, two double ovens, and two dishwashers.

The one with a living room big enough to hold a ten-foot Christmas tree. "

Oh my God, I couldn't believe he remembered all that. "You remembered?"

"I told you. I didn't forget a single thing you ever said," he replied seriously. Taking my hands in his, he continued, "I will make you the happiest woman on Earth, I swear."

I swallowed down a lump in my throat. All this sounded… too good to be true. So much so, I wanted to cry.

"Don't cry," he said, kissing me. He really did know me all too well.

"Can you really do that in seven months?"

"Can you pull off a wedding and open a restaurant?" He challenged.

We grinned at each other and simultaneously said, "I can."

We laughed, and suddenly we were Pats and Ells again. Two teenagers so in love with each other that it gave the world pause.