Page 70 of The Christmas Door

“That’s not the kind of reporter I want to be.”

“I appreciate that sentiment?—”

“It’s more than a sentiment.” He touched her arm. “If I can’t do something with integrity, then I don’t want to do it.”

Admiration flickered in her gaze. “Is your editor going to run the article anyway?”

“I have all my notes. She doesn’t have any of that.” He shrugged. “I can’t make any promises as to what she’ll do. But I can’t imagine she would pursue this. She knows there will be backlash, especially if I come forward with what I know.”

“I see.”

He tilted his head. “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, Amayah. But you’ve got to believe me when I say I’m so sorry.”

Amayah looked at him with something gentle—something that made his chest ache. “Luke . . . you were grieving. Trying to make sense of a loss that didn’t make sense.” She let out a breath. “You made choices out of pain. I’ve done the same.”

He stared at her, not sure how she could say that without bitterness.

“We both made mistakes. But we’re standing here now. And the kids are safe. And—” Her voice wavered. “I don’t know what happens next.”

A cold gust brushed between them, carrying the faint sound of the paramedics packing up equipment.

Luke forced himself to speak the words that had been clawing at him since the moment he realized how badly he’d misjudged her.

“I understand if you never want to talk to me again.” His voice was low, raw. “And if that’s the case . . . I just want you to know that you are one of the most incredible women I’ve ever met. And I’m sorry—truly sorry—for any heartbreak I caused you.”

Her breath hitched.

Slowly—tentatively—she stepped closer.

He didn’t move. Didn’t dare. Not until she lifted her eyes to his with a softness that undid him completely.

“Luke,” she whispered. “I’m not walking away.”

The world seemed to slow.

The snow.

The lights.

The quiet hum of the ambulance.

She was right there—close enough that her breath warmed the space between them.

He reached out, brushing a loose curl from her cheek. “Are you sure?”

Her answering smile was small, steady. “I am.”

He leaned in—carefully, reverently—and pressed his lips to hers.

The kiss was soft.

Gentle.

The kind that felt like a beginning, not an apology.

The kind that felt like a doorway opening.

CHAPTER 34