Epilogue #3
I turn to face her when we reach the foot of the bed, and the sight of her steals my breath all over again.
She's backlit by the lamp on her nightstand, golden light catching in her hair and turning her skin luminous.
The jersey she's wearing falls to mid-thigh, and I can see the delicate line of her collarbone above the neckline.
"God, you're gorgeous," I breathe, reaching for her again.
She steps into my arms easily, her hands sliding up my chest to curl around my neck. "So are you," she whispers back, and the simple compliment hits me like a physical touch.
I've been called attractive before—by reporters, by fans, by women in bars who wanted something from me—but when Delaney says it, it feels like truth. Like she sees something in me worth wanting beyond the surface stuff.
"I missed you today," she continues, her fingers playing with the short hair at the base of my neck. "The apartment felt too quiet without you."
"I missed you too," I tell her, already working at the buttons of my shirt. "Kept thinking about coming home to you. Particularly in one of those dresses you wore in Boston…"
She tilts her head back and barks out a laugh. "You are home," she says simply, and the words hit somewhere deep in my chest where I keep all the things that matter most.
I kiss her then, long and slow and thorough, pouring a year's worth of gratitude into the slide of my lips against hers. She responds immediately, melting into me with a soft sound that makes my hands shake as I reach for the hem of my jersey.
"Off," I murmur against her mouth, tugging at the fabric.
She raises her arms obligingly, and I pull the jersey over her head in one smooth motion, revealing miles of pale skin.
"Jesus, Del," I breathe, my hands settling on her waist as I take in the sight of her. "You're going to kill me."
She smiles, slow and sultry and completely confident in her effect on me. "That's the plan."
Her fingers make quick work of the rest of my shirt buttons, pushing the fabric off my shoulders and letting her hands roam over my chest and shoulders.
I've always been proud of my body—it's my job to be in peak physical condition—but under Delaney's touch, I feel like something more than just muscle and bone. I feel like someone worth loving.
"I love these," she murmurs, tracing the line of my collarbone with her fingertips.
"And these." Her hands slide down to map the ridges of my abs, making me suck in a sharp breath.
"And especially this." She traces the scar on my shoulder from the accident, the one that used to remind me of everything I'd lost, but now just reminds me of everything I found.
"Delaney," I warn, my voice rough with wanting her.
"What?" she asks innocently, but her eyes are dancing with mischief as she takes a step back. "I'm just appreciating my big, strong, hockey player boyfriend."
"Appreciate me horizontally," I suggest, reaching for her again.
She laughs and dodges my hands, backing toward the bed with that teasing smile that's been driving me crazy since the day we met. "Someone's impatient."
"Someone's been thinking about getting you naked since I left this morning," I counter, finally catching her around the waist and tumbling us both onto the bed.
She shrieks with laughter as we bounce on the mattress, her hair spreading across the pillows. I prop myself up on one elbow to look down at her, suddenly overwhelmed by how happy she looks. How happy we both are.
"What?" she asks softly, reaching up to trace my cheekbone with one finger.
"Just thinking about how different everything is from a year ago," I tell her honestly. "How different I am."
Her expression grows serious, understanding flickering in her green eyes. "Better different?"
"So much better," I assure her, leaning down to kiss her forehead.
Tears shine in her eyes again, but she's smiling as she pulls my face down to hers. "I love you, Mac Sullivan. Past, present, and future."
"I love you too," I whisper against her lips. "Forever."
The word used to scare me—the idea of making promises I might not be able to keep, of risking the kind of loss that nearly destroyed me. But with Delaney warm and willing beneath me, forever feels like the safest bet I've ever made.
I kiss her deeply, tasting champagne and promises on her tongue, and lose myself in the miracle of being chosen by someone who sees all my broken pieces and loves me anyway.
Outside, rain continues to fall against the windows, but inside our bedroom, there's nothing but heat and light and the sound of Delaney sighing my name like it's something precious.
Later, much later, we lie tangled together in the aftermath, her head on my chest and my fingers combing through her hair. The pasta is definitely ruined by now, but neither of us seems to care.
"Mac?" she murmurs sleepily.
"Mmm?"
"Do you think Jake will actually listen to Maya's advice?"
I chuckle, the sound rumbling through my chest. "Not a chance. He's going to try to charm her, she's going to shut him down, and then they're going to have the kind of epic enemies-to-lovers story that you'll be recommending to customers for years."
"Think they'll end up together?"
"I think Maya Gatlin is about to teach Jake Morrison that he's not nearly as smooth as he thinks he is," I say, already looking forward to watching my best friend get taken down a peg by Delaney's brilliant, sharp-tongued best friend. "And I think he's going to love every second of it."
Delaney laughs softly, pressing a kiss to my chest right over my heart. "Should we warn them?"
"Absolutely not," I tell her firmly. "They'll figure it out on their own. Besides, the best love stories are the ones people don't see coming."
"Like ours?"
"Like ours," I agree, tightening my arms around her and breathing in the scent of her shampoo mixed with the smell of rain through our open window.
Tomorrow I'll go back to Boston for practice, and Delaney will open the bookshop and help customers find their next favorite read.
I'll spend my days relearning how to be a professional athlete while she spends hers surrounded by love stories and happy endings.
But every evening, I'll drive home to Millbrook Falls, to this apartment above the bookshop where fairy lights twinkle year-round and every surface holds evidence of the life we're building together.
It's not the life I planned, but it's better than anything I could have imagined. And as I drift off to sleep with my girlfriend warm against my side and rain drumming gently on the roof, I can't help but think that Lily would approve.
After all, we got our happy ending. And it's even better than the ones in books.