Chapter Sixty-Five - Daniel
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
Daniel
HE WOKE UP to sunlight and her breathing.
For a second—just one—he thought it was a dream. Then she shifted under the covers, and her bare leg brushed his. And he remembered.
It was real.
His heart clenched so hard he thought it might bruise.
Hannah. In his arms. Not distant. Not gone. Here.
His body was sore in the best way. His chest full. His mind loud. She was curled against him like she belonged there, like nothing had ever shattered between them.
God, he loved her.
It wasn’t even a thought anymore—it was a condition. A heartbeat. A truth woven into his skin.
He pressed the softest kiss to her shoulder and lay back, blinking up at the ceiling like it might explain what he’d done right.
He wanted to weep. Instead, he forced himself to breathe.
She shifted beside him, murmuring into the pillow. Awake, but not ready for the day yet.
He smiled, brushing her hair back from her temple. “I want to come to Denver with you,” he said quietly.
That got her attention.
She turned toward him, eyes open now. “What?”
He swallowed. “The job. I’ll come with you. Wherever you’re going, I want to go too.”
She blinked.
“We don’t have to live together. Not unless you want that. I just—I'll find work, or freelance, or start over completely. Whatever it takes. I just want to be wherever you are.”
She was still staring at him, confused.
Fuck. He’d gone too far.
She didn’t want that. She didn’t want him following her across the country like some pathetic shadow of their past. She wanted space. He could give her that.
He closed his eyes. Tried to swallow the ache already blooming behind his ribs.
“I get it,” he said quickly, pulling his hand back. “If that’s not what you want—we could be long distance. I could fly in every week. Or every other week, if that’s too much. I—”
“Daniel.”
Her voice cut through him. Calm. Even. Soft.
He opened his eyes.
She reached out, took his hand again, gently. “I’m not going to Denver.”
It took a second to land.
He stared at her, confused. “But… the job…”
“I said yes,” she said. “But to something else. Something better.”
She sat up then, hair a mess, face bare and honest in the morning light. “I negotiated. Every part of it. I didn’t compromise. I said no to what didn’t serve me, and built the job I actually wanted.”
His breath caught.
“I’m doing it on my terms. From here.”
He stared at her like she was made of fire and gold. A woman who didn’t just rebuild her life—she rewrote the rules.
“This place matters.” She paused, eyes on his. “I’ve built something here worth protecting.”
His chest cracked open.
He didn’t trust his voice, so he nodded. Once. Then again. And again.
“I want you as my wife,” he said, voice breaking. “God, Hannah. I want it so much it hurts.”
She smiled, just a little. Not big. Not flashy. But real.
And then she kissed him. Slow. Certain.
══════════════════
It was her house now.
He had to remind himself of that.
Even as he lay in the bed they used to share. Even as her body was still tangled with his under the covers, one knee hooked over his thigh, her hand curled loosely against his chest like her heart had forgotten what her mind had been through.
She smelled like lavender and heat. Like memory.
And Daniel—God, he didn’t move. Not at first. Just breathed her in and counted every second he got to be next to her.
This wasn’t his home anymore.
Not yet.
He didn’t deserve the comfort of this room, the light pooling across the hardwood, the sleepy softness in her face as she blinked awake. But he would take the moment she gave him. Hold it without expectation. Let it be what it was.
Hannah stirred. Blinked up at the ceiling. Then at him.
Her expression was unreadable. Tired. Calm.
Present.
She didn’t pull away.
Just stretched, slow and quiet, then turned onto her side to face him. Her hair was a mess. Her lips were parted. And her eyes—steady, dark, wide—held him there like truth.
“Hey,” she murmured.
He swallowed. “Hey.”
Neither of them said it. Neither of them named the thing that had passed between them last night.
But it was still here. In the air. In her skin on his.
After a few moments, she sat up. Pulled the sheet with her. Ran a hand through her hair and winced at the tangles. “I need coffee.”
He smiled, soft and aching. “I’ll make it.”
She nodded. Then paused. Her eyes flicked to his chest.
To the spot where the chain disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt.
“Is that still…” she trailed off.
He sat up, heart tripping. Reached beneath the fabric and tugged the chain gently out.
The ring hung from it.
Her wedding ring.
It was worn from years of love and neglect and rebuilding.
She stared at it for a moment. Then said, “Can I have it?”
Daniel froze.
He thought maybe he’d misheard.
But she was still looking at him, eyes steady. Her hand lifted, palm open.
“Only if you want to,” she added softly.
He couldn’t speak. Not at first. His throat was too tight.
He slipped the chain over his head, untangled the ring, and held it in his fingers. It felt heavier than it used to. Or maybe it was just the weight of what it meant now.
Not a symbol of ownership.
Not a return to what they’d had.
But a promise to try again.
Slowly. Honestly.
With everything laid bare.
He reached for her hand.
Her fingers didn’t shake, but his did.
He slid the ring back onto her finger—where it had always belonged.
And when it settled into place, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
Not in relief. Not in triumph.
In reverence.
Her hand curled around his.
They sat in silence for a moment, the morning warming around them.
The ring caught the light between their joined hands.
He kissed her knuckles.
Then stood and went to make the coffee.