38. Katy #2
“I don’t miss him,” I whisper. “Not like I thought I would. I love him, but… it’s nice not being needed every second.”
“Katy,” he says gently, “that’s not a bad thing. It just means you’re human.”
“It feels selfish.”
“You give him everything every day.” He meets my eyes. “Wanting a little space doesn’t change that. You’re an amazing mom,” he adds. “The fact that you even worry about this? That’s the proof.”
“I love being his mom,” I add softly. “I just… also love being me.”
His hand tightens around mine. “Good,” he says. “Because I love you.”
The breeze lifts my hair and the wine settles warm in my veins. And I stop arguing with the peace I feel.
Back at the inn, our room is quiet, the ocean just barely audible through the window. I hesitate when I step inside. My body feels different now. It’s softer. It’s not the college cheerleader body I used to have.
Ben notices immediately.
“Hey,” he says, stepping closer. “What’s going on?”
I shake my head, even though it’s obvious. “Nothing. I just…” My arms cross over my stomach without thinking. “I don’t look like I used to.”
He doesn’t pause for a second. “Yeah,” he says easily. “You look better.”
I blink. “Ben—”
“I’m serious.” His hand slides along my waist, slow and deliberate. “You look like the woman who gave me a son.”
My breath catches.
“You look like you,” he adds. “And for the record…” His mouth brushes beneath my ear, his hands moving up, warm and sure, settling at my chest. “I’m a big fan of the upgrades.”
“Ben!”
“What?” he murmurs. “I’m just being honest.”
A breathless laugh slips out of me.
This time, I don’t wait. I pull him in first.
The kiss starts slow. Deep. Familiar in a way that feels new again.
Then his hands find the hem of my shirt, and I go still. He notices, and instead of lifting it, he looks at me.
“Can I?” he asks.
The question catches me off guard.
I nod.
He eases the fabric over my head with the same care he’s shown me these last few months, and when I’m standing in front of him again, I instinctively fold my arms across myself.
He gently takes my wrists.
“Let me see you, baby, don’t hide from me.”
“I’m not hiding.”
His smile is impossibly patient. “Katy Cat.”
I let out a tiny sigh and lower my arms.
His eyes travel over me—not hungrily, not critically. Just... appreciatively.
“I love this body,” he says quietly.
I swallow hard.
“No, listen.” His thumb brushes over my hand. “I’ve loved every single version of you. But this one? This one is my favorite one.”
I shake my head. My arms want to cross again. I don’t let them.
His hands are at my waist, not pulling, just resting. Asking. “Please, don’t hide from me. Not tonight.”
It’s the tonight that gets me. Like he knows I’ve been hiding. Like he’s been patient about it, and he still is—but tonight he’s asking me to come back to him. Not because he’s angry. Because he misses me.
I exhale. And I let him see me. All of me.
His hands are steady, grounding—never rushing, just following, reminding.
We move together without urgency, like we’re allowed to take our time.
“I want you to see yourself the way I do,” he murmurs against my ear.
My breath catches as he guides me gently toward the dresser, turning me just enough that the mirror catches us both.
“Stay with me,” he says softly. “Don’t look away.”
My fingers tighten against the sheets as I meet my own reflection—flushed, breathless, his body pressed close behind me, his hands everywhere, like he’s memorizing me.
“See that?” he murmurs. “That’s mine.”
The way he says it—low, certain—sends heat rushing through me all over again.
I can’t look away.
Not from him. Not from us.
Not from the way he looks at me like I’m everything.
The tension builds slowly, deliberately—until I’m shaking, breath catching, completely undone under his hands.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, voice rough now. “Just like that.”
When I finally fall apart, it hits hard, pulling his name from my lips before I can stop it.
He follows, pulling me back against him, holding me there as we both catch our breath.
He pulls me close after, his arm around me, my head against his chest. The room is warm and still. Outside, the ocean keeps going, indifferent and steady, like it was doing this long before us and will keep doing it long after.
I don’t want to move. I don’t.
We fall asleep like that. Because parents to a baby.
When I wake up, the room is dim, the sky darker, the world quieter. And Ben’s already watching me.
“Come on.” He offers me his hand. “Let’s go for a walk.”
The beach is cool beneath our feet, the air sharp and cold.
We walk for a while without speaking, our hands interlaced.
Then he stops.
“Katy.”
I turn.
And I see it. A small bonfire. Soft string lights everywhere. The ocean stretching behind it.
It looks exactly like the night of my first bonfire party.
“Katy, dance with me.”
My hands are trembling, but I nod. We move together easily, like we’ve done this a hundred times before.
“Good thing there’s no storm this time,” he says.
I smile. “The storm’s already passed.”
When the song ends, he steps back. Then he drops to one knee and everything else disappears.
“Katy,” he says, my name steady in a way that makes my heart ache. “I don’t know where the draft is going to take us. What city. Or how many times we’ll have to start over.” He exhales. “But I do know I don’t want to build a single version of my life without you in it.”
My breath catches.
“You’ve always seen the best in me,” he continues. “You were my biggest supporter and my home before I even understood what that meant. Before the baby. Before everything got real.”
“And now… you’re still it.”
His voice softens but doesn’t waver. “You’re my person. The one I choose every time, in every version of what our life could look like.”
A tear slips down my cheek.
“Katy… will you marry me?”
“Yes,” I say immediately. “Yes.”
He exhales, sliding the ring onto my finger. It’s simple and elegant. It’s perfect.
Then he pulls me into him, arms tight. “I love you,” he murmurs.
“I love you too. I always have.” I pull back just enough to look at him.
“I’ll always—”
“Wait.” I press my hand flat against his chest, stopping him before he can say anything else. “That’s not fair.”
He blinks. “What?”
“You don’t just get to do that and then we’re done.” My voice comes out wobbly but certain. “I have things to say too.”
His mouth curves. “Katy—”
“I’m serious. Give me a second.” I take a breath, the ring cool and new on my finger. “Okay.”
I swallow. “Before you, I was always bracing for something. Bracing for everyone to realize I’m not perfect.
” I shake my head. “And then there’s you.
And you’re just... happy. You wake up happy and you just…
live. And somehow, I stopped bracing. Because you’d never expect perfection from me, so I started just living too.
“You make me fearless,” I continue. “Not because nothing scary happens, but because I know you’re next to me when it does.
And I get to build a life that’s right next to yours, and laugh at everything, and actually enjoy it instead of just surviving it.
” I pause, shaking my head a little. “You are so relentlessly, stubbornly, annoyingly happy, Ben. Like, genuinely. All the time. Who does that?”
He lets out a surprised laugh.
“So.” I straighten, sniffling. “Yes. Obviously yes. But I needed you to know that you’re pretty amazing, and I’ve always been annoyingly in love with you.”
He looks at me for a long moment. Then he laughs, quiet and undone, and pulls me back in.
“You’re killing me,” he murmurs into my hair.
“You started it,” I say.
We stay like that, wrapped around each other, the ocean and music filling in everything else.
“I made dinner reservations,” he says after a while.
“I don’t care.”
He pulls back slightly.
I shake my head, already reaching for him again.
“We can get room service. I want to go back to the room.”
Something shifts in his expression. “Let’s go.”
We don’t walk back.
We run.