Epilogue #3
“We’d light the fire and sit up til you fell asleep on my chest telling me stories about your life and dreaming aloud about our future together.”
“When did you turn into such a romantic?” I ask him, tipping my head up to meet his eyes.
“Maybe when I fell for you. Dad says I always was sentimental when it came to you.”
“I bet he means that as a high compliment,” I tease.
“The highest.” His chuckle rumbles beneath my cheek which has found its way to resting right over Patrick’s heart.
“I’ve always loved the Waterford tree lighting,” I tell him, my voice drowsy and sated.
“Maybe by next Christmas we’ll be decorating another tree together,” he says.
“Are you proposing to me, O’Connell?” I tip my head up and meet his gaze. “Mrs. Hellman will be thrilled.”
“Not yet.” His eyes rove across my face. “There are still some important matters to decide.”
He wags his brows and grins, that dimple I love popping.
I reach over and set my mug on the coffee table and then I trace his dimple with my pointer finger.
“Matters to decide, such as?” I ask.
“Whether I’ll have to take your last name,” he says in all seriousness, but his eyes are dancing. “I can’t imagine you ever wanting to be an O’Connell.”
“I think I could be convinced.”
“Really?”
“Mm hmm.” My tongue darts out to wet my lips in anticipation. “I’ve been persuaded by an O’Connell before, you know. They can be very convincing men when they want to be.”
“Well then, I’d better get busy convincing you,” he says, pushing my hair back with his fingertips and cupping my jaw with his palm.
He sets his mug on the table next to mine.
“I love you, Daisy.” He says it every day and it feels like the first time each time.
I know what it cost him to be able to say those words to me.
“I love you too, Patrick.”
His hand is back on my cheek and his gaze is just shy of reverent as he looks into my eyes. When his lips brush against mine there’s a tenderness that practically draws out tears. I lift my hands, running them through his hair.
“Love you so much,” he murmurs, his nose trailing down my neck, his mouth retracing the path in soft kisses that send shivers through me.
When Patrick’s lips find mine, it’s not the kind of kiss that steals my breath.
He’s always giving to me. His movements are slow—deliberate—like a man who knows there’s no reason to rush when forever’s finally within our reach.
His hand gently cups the side of my face, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth.
I taste chocolate and warmth and something that feels like the beginning of everything I never believed would never be mine.
He deepens the kiss, and I melt, my fingers threading into his hair, tugging him closer until there’s no space left between us. No airwaves. No mysteries. No misunderstandings.
Every brush of his mouth against mine rewrites the story of us—just as he promised he’d do, only we’re in this together, editing our past and drafting our future.
The fire in him is familiar; it used to be what scared me. But now, it’s the safest thing I know. He’s hungry, but contained, hot but the warmth I can cozy up to.
He pulls back just enough to breathe, his forehead pressed to mine. The soft rise and fall of his chest the only movement between us. His expanding smile the only thing I see.
“I can’t believe I almost let this slip through my hands,” he murmurs, voice roughened by emotion.
“You didn’t,” I whisper back. “You caught it. You caught me.”
“Did you want me to propose tonight?” His eyes are earnest, as if he’d walk into the kitchen and fashion a ring out of tinfoil just to get the job done.
“I didn’t expect it, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Did you want it?”
“I want you.” I lift my head and tuck it under his chin, resting my cheek on his heart.
This is my favorite place on earth.
“I want to savor this time together,” I say, in a voice as soft and disheveled as his.
“We’ll never get it back. I want to date you.
To live next door, placing my palm on the wall between our bedrooms before I go to sleep, knowing you’re right on the other side.
To come to your place when you invite me.
To ask you over and cook you a meal. I want to marry you, Patrick.
That’s not even a question. I just want to enjoy the journey on our way there.
Years from now, we’ll have kids and music lessons and sports practices and family dinners—holidays and birthday parties filled with people we love. For now, I want to savor us.”
“Good,” he says. “I want that too. All of it. I want everything with you, Daisy.”
“I’ll give you everything,” I promise him.
And I will. It’s all his. Whatever I am, whatever I have—his. I’m his. Maybe I always was. It just took me a while to admit it.
He smiles—quiet, reverent—and kisses me again, more slowly this time, like a promise sealing all our hopes and dreams.
I open my eyes and meet his gaze. In them, I see everything—the man who waited for me, the man who helped me find my way back to my dreams, and the man I want sharing all my tomorrows.