Chapter 67
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Alec
It was nearly impossible to pull Mara aside yesterday.
Laura and Mila filled every room with questions and commentary, bouncing between stories and interruptions like a two-person circus act.
I knew they had a talent for sunshine-infused mayhem, but fuck, how is a man supposed to have a serious conversation when the universe insists on surrounding the woman he loves with chatter and emotional boomerangs?
Obviously, I’ll find a way. I always find a way. But last night I stayed at my penthouse, pacing between rooms like some feral version of myself, missing her enough to make it difficult to breathe normally. I’m not avoiding the Cavanagh squad for twelve hours again.
I met the Wilders for breakfast just to distract myself. Even Alfie showed up, claiming his parents were driving him up the wall and he needed neutral territory. He talked to us—barely—but by Wilder standards, that counts as affection.
By ten, I’ve built up just enough courage to walk to Mara’s door.
She opens it before I knock twice. “Morning,” she says, soft and warm, voice still edged with sleep.
That single word rewires something in me. I swear the floor shifts under my feet.
“Morning,” I say, stepping inside like a man walking into the place his heart recognizes before he does. “Where’s Mila?”
“With your friends,” she says, letting out a laugh that bubbles up like she’s still surprised by the concept. “Cleo and Kit picked her and my mom up for the aquarium. They’re having a ‘marine biology emergency.’ According to Mila, the sharks miss her.”
My mouth curves. “Naturally.”
She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
I add, “So . . . since it’s just the two of us, maybe we could—” I wiggle my brows, letting the joke sit between us.
“Have sex?” she says bluntly, then shakes her head. “No. We have to talk, and though I don’t want to be the woman who asks, ‘where is this going,’ but I have to do it before my child does it for us.”
I laugh because she’s right—if anyone will force this conversation, it’s Mila. She’d do it while tying her shoes or eating cereal.
“So . . . what exactly are we to—” Mara pauses, breath hitching. “To each other.”
She takes a step toward me. Then another. Small, careful movements like she’s testing the ground between us. When she stops, the hem of her shirt brushes my jeans, and the warmth rolling off her climbs into my chest. Her breath grazes my chin.
“I love you,” she whispers. The words land with the force of a confession she’s been holding in for too long.
“And I want this. I want us. Fully. No hiding. No ‘later.’ And not pretending to Mila that we’re just neighbors who accidentally cook dinner together five nights a week.
” She winces. “Which sounds even more ridiculous now that I say it out loud.”
Her fingers slip under the hem of my shirt, gripping lightly as if grounding herself.
“One day I want to ask you for forever,” she continues softly, voice trembling at the edges. “Because I see it. I see us. Growing old. Together. I’m in love with you, Alec, and I don’t want to hold back anymore.”
Everything inside me goes still—still in a way that feels like coming alive for the first time.
I open my eyes fully, meeting hers.
“Mara,” I breathe, “I’ve been yours. I’ve been yours since the day you walked out of that elevator wearing a polka-dot raincoat and looking like sunlight accidentally wandered into my life.”
She smiles, and fuck—her smile could ruin me in the best possible way.
“And?” she prompts gently, tilting her head like she needs to hear it said aloud.
“And,” I murmur, brushing my thumb across her cheek, “I want this too. All of it. I want to tell people. I want your mom to stop staring at me like I’m auditioning to be your step-boyfriend. I want Mila to stop asking for a sibling I can’t magically produce before summer.”
She laughs—it’s a wholehearted sound that pulls me in every time.
“But more than anything,” I whisper, leaning closer, “I want to love you in the open. Without feeling like the world might pull us apart.”
Her eyes soften, filling with something tender and certain. “Me too.”
I lower my head and kiss her—slow, deep, claiming, the kind of kiss that imprints itself on a man.
Her hands slide up my chest, fingers slipping into my hair, tugging just enough to pull a quiet groan from me.
I wrap my arms around her waist and lift her slightly.
She laughs against my mouth, her legs instinctively curling around my hips as if she’s been waiting years to do it.
“I love you,” she murmurs into the kiss, her lips brushing mine with each syllable.
I cradle her face in both hands, tilting her head just enough to capture her mouth fully this time.
The kiss deepens instantly, not rushed, not frantic—just powerful enough to make the world outside the walls go silent.
Her lips part on a soft sound that shoots through me, and I pull her closer, feeling her melt into me like she’s finally letting herself lean without fear.
Her fingers slide up the sides of my neck, threading into my hair, holding me as if she’s been waiting years for this exact moment.
I breathe her in—vanilla shampoo, warmth, the faintest tremor of emotion still clinging to her—and press my forehead against hers before kissing her again. Slower this time. More certain.
She sighs into my mouth, and it feels like trust. It feels like something neither of us dared to believe we could have.
When I lift her, her legs wrap around my hips naturally, her laugh blending with the sound of my own low groan.
I kiss her the way a man kisses the person he’s been falling for long before he had the courage to name it.
My hands trace the curve of her back, grounding both of us as the kiss turns deeper, richer—filled with everything we’ve been holding inside.