Chapter 32
thirty-two
. . .
Rowan
It’s been six months with Violet now, and I’m positive I still don’t deserve any of it, but I make damn sure every day that I’m working for it.
Work still takes me away sometimes—a couple weeks here and there. Just long enough to suffer through that familiar ache of distance I used to think was part of the job. Now it just feels like missing her.
But every time I pull back into the driveway, there she is, just like she is right now, barefoot on the porch with my dog at her side and that smile that wrecks me.
God help me, every time I see her like that, the beast inside me settles. She’s turned my house into something warm and my life into something worth coming back to.
Maybe I’ll never stop feeling like I’ve got to earn her, but I’m thinking that’s the point—loving someone so much that you never stop trying.
As soon as I kill the engine and step out, her eyes meet mine. I’m barely up the porch steps before she’s in my arms.
“You’re back,” she whispers, a little breathless, as if it surprises her every time.
“I’m back,” I murmur, and then I kiss her. Hard. Thorough. I need her to know I missed her with every bone in my body. She answers with just as much heat, fingers buried in my hair.
We finally go inside, and I drop my bag by the door. She moves toward the kitchen, already reaching for the kettle.
I just stand there and watch the way she moves through my house like she belongs, and it’s because she does. She’s got a mug here, her favorite blanket draped over the back of the couch, her shampoo in the shower.
I don’t want her to leave. I’m done with goodbye kisses and seeing her drive away.
I step into the kitchen and wrap my arms around her from behind, my lips brushing the soft curve of her neck.
“Move in,” I say, voice low and steady. “Come live here. With me.”
She stills. Her breath catches audibly, and I hold mine. I’ve thought about this for weeks, but I hadn’t planned to ask her today, hadn’t rehearsed the words. They just fell out.
She turns in my arms, the kettle forgotten on the counter. Her forest green eyes search mine, wide and questioning.
“Are you serious?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper.
“Never been more serious about anything,” I say, hands settling on her hips. “I want to fall asleep with you every night and wake up with you every morning. I want your clothes next to mine, your books on my shelves. I want this to be our home, not just mine.”
Her lips part slightly, and for a terrifying moment, I think I’ve asked too much. But then she grins—that bright, sunshine smile that starts with the brightening in her eyes and works its way down.
She rises onto her toes and kisses me softly before pulling back just enough to whisper against my lips, “Okay.”
“Okay?” I repeat, grinning like a damn fool.
She nods. “Let’s do it. Let’s make this our home.”
I kiss her again, because there’s nothing else to do when your girl says yes to building a life with you. When she pulls back, breathless and beaming, she says, “You’re going to regret this when I start reorganizing your fridge by color.”
“Babe,” I reply, already plotting how fast I can clear out a drawer for her snacks, “I’ve never wanted anything more.”
Bramble dances around our feet, tail wagging like she understands exactly what’s happening. I scratch behind her ears, laughing as she leans into my hand.
“When?” she asks. “I mean, my lease is up in three months, but—”
“Tomorrow,” I say. “Tonight. Yesterday. Whenever you want.”
“I can’t just leave Whit hanging like that.”
“I’ll pay your portion until she sorts it out.”
“Rowan—”
“I’m serious.” My hands frame her face, those green eyes locked on mine. “I don’t want to wait three more months to call this place ours. I’ve waited long enough.”
She nods. “I’ll talk to Whitley tonight. But you know she’s going to want to help me redecorate half your house.”
“Our house,” I correct, my thumb tracing her cheekbone. “And she can paint the whole damn place pink if it means you’re here.”
She laughs, knowing I absolutely don’t mean that. “I’ll make sure she knows your limits.”
“I don’t have limits when it comes to you.”
“That’s a dangerous thing to say to a woman who owns three different waffle makers.”
“I’ve got plenty of kitchen space,” I tell her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
She grins, eyes glimmering. “That’s the right answer.”
I don’t tell her that my kitchen has half as many cabinets as she’s picturing, or that I’m going to have to clear out my garage to make space for all her holiday decorations I’ve seen stuffed in her closet. It doesn’t matter. I’ll rebuild the whole damn house if it means she’ll stay.
“I love you,” I say, because it’s the truest thing I know.
“I love you, too.” She brushes her fingers through my hair, tugging gently at the ends. “Now, let me make you some food. You look like you haven’t eaten in days.”
“I’m fine,” I protest, but she’s already moving toward the fridge, pulling out ingredients.
“Grilled cheese?” she asks, already knowing the answer.
“You spoil me.”
“Someone has to.” She flashes me a smile over her shoulder. “Otherwise, you’d live on protein bars and spite.”
I snort and lean against the counter. I could watch her forever, doing mundane things like making grilled cheeses.
She hums softly as she butters bread, her hair falling in a curtain over her shoulder.
“What?” she asks, catching me staring.
“Nothing,” I say. “Just thinking about how lucky I am.”
She rolls her eyes, but I catch her smile before she hides it. “It’s just a sandwich, Rowan.”
“It’s not about the sandwich.”
Her cheeks flush pink as she turns back to the stove. “You’re getting soft on me, Wolfe.”
“Only for you,” I mutter, stepping behind her to wrap my arms around her waist. “Only ever for you.”
She exhales, leaning back into me for exactly half a second before straightening. “Oh! I got an invitation while you were away. You remember my cousin, Bree?”
I think back, and yeah, I do remember her. A blonde girl a few years older than us who could have been Violet’s sister because the resemblance was so similar.
“Is that the one that stayed with you for a few weeks over the summer after sophomore year?”
She flips the sandwich over in the pan. “That’s the one. She’s getting married! The wedding’s in Scotland in a couple months.”
“Scotland? Nice. Why there?”
“Oh, it’s a whole thing. Her fiancé, Callan, is from there. She moved there a while back.”
“Huh, neat. You going?”
She spins to meet my eyes. “Am I going? Well, I was kind of hoping we could go. Together. You know, like a couple normally would.” She smirks. “I know for a fact you have a passport since you use it all the time.”
Hell, I never thought about things like vacations when I took this job. I’ve just always built my life in short increments and never got to anything that required calendars or commitment.
Standing here now, it hits me—I don’t know how to plan a life with someone.
I know how to build something solid on my own. I know how to save, how to buy a house, how to make sure I land on my feet. But that’s different. That’s survival. That’s keeping one step ahead of everything that could fall apart.
This is making promises, and I’m afraid I don’t know how to do that.
I only know how to leave.
I study her face. She’s watching me, braced for rejection. God, the last thing I want is to disappoint her.
I inhale slowly, shoving down the panic that always hits when I think too far ahead. “I could go.”
Her shoulders relax, relief flickering in her eyes. “It’ll be fun. Our first trip together.”
“When is it, exactly?”
She grabs her phone off the counter, scrolling through her calendar.
“Well, actually…” She bites her bottom lip. “I’m pretty sure it’s only a couple days after you’re supposed to be back from your Mexico trip.”
I freeze. That’s cutting it close. That familiar coil of guilt knots in my gut as my mind races, thinking about unreliable flights, briefings I can’t skip. Everything that makes my life so damn messy.
I take a slow breath. “A couple days…okay. I’ll make it work.”
She nods, but there’s no mistaking the doubt in her eyes. I fucking hate that I even know what that looks like, never mind being the reason for it.
“Hey,” I say. “Even if I have to swim back from Mexico, I’ll be there.”
That gets a laugh out of her. “I’d pay good money to see that.”
“Don’t tempt me. I’d do it just to prove a point.”
She flips the sandwich onto a plate and hands it to me. “Just eat your food, tough guy.”