26. Dannica #2
Shelly snorts loudly. “That’s because you don’t know how intimidating your resting face is.”
“I have a resting customer-service face.”
“You look like you’d politely destroy someone emotionally.”
Teddy coughs into his coffee, clearly trying not to laugh.
Traitor.
Peyton nods, relief flickering across her face, and steps back, giving me space again.
And just like that, the moment shifts back into something lighter, something louder, filled with laughter and voices and people pressing a drink into my hand and pulling me into conversations I barely follow because I’m still trying to process all of it.
It’s wonderful. Messy and loud and full of so much love that I can barely hold it all in my body.
At some point, Luke insists on making a toast despite nobody asking him to. He stands so abruptly, Diane has to grab his arm to steady him.
“To newspapers,” he announces proudly, holding up what appears to be a chocolate milkshake. “And emotionally brave women.”
“That was surprisingly good,” Mary whispers.
Luke beams. “And to Diane,” he adds immediately, turning toward her with devastating sincerity, “who says I’m maturing.”
Diane smiles into her wine glass. “I said improving.”
“Even better.”
Honestly, I think Luke might already be planning a future where they own matching porch chairs.
Later, when we’re at Teddy’s door, I feel it in my bones. The exhaustion. The adrenaline. The overwhelming, unbelievable joy of it all.
“I did it,” I say, and it comes out softer than I expected.
“I know,” he says.
And then he pulls me into a kiss. It’s not urgent. It’s not about catching up or making up for lost time. It’s happy. Warm. Full of something that feels lighter than anything we’ve had before, like we’re not holding onto the moment so much as stepping into what comes next.
I laugh against his mouth, a little breathless, a little giddy, and he huffs out something that sounds suspiciously the same.
“You’re glowing,” he murmurs.
“I feel like I might actually float away,” I admit, unable to contain my smile.
Everything between us is easy, natural, the kind of closeness that doesn’t need to prove itself.
It just exists, growing steadier with every touch, every laugh, every moment we share without overthinking it.
There’s joy in it, real joy, the kind that bubbles up without warning, that makes everything feel brighter, lighter, possible.
“Stay,” he says, his hand settling at my waist, grounding me.
“Not going anywhere,” I reply, looking into his eyes, not wanting to break the connection between us.
And I mean it. Because for the first time I don’t feel like I have to chase anything. I’m already here. With him. In this life that suddenly feels like mine. He looks at me for another second like he’s trying to memorize me, and then he kisses me again. Deeper this time.
My hands slide into his hair automatically, and I laugh softly against his mouth when I nearly trip over my own feet as I back into his apartment.
“Oh my god,” I mutter. “That was almost deeply embarrassing.”
“You recovered beautifully.”
“I’m glowing with success tonight.”
“You are glowing,” he says again.
Heat blooms low in my stomach, because he’s looking at me like I’m beautiful, yes, but also like he’s proud of me. Like he sees every piece of me I spent years trying to downplay and somehow likes me more because of it. That does something dangerous to my emotional stability.
I kiss him before I can say anything stupid.
He makes a soft sound against my mouth, his hands settling at my waist. Everything between us feels easy tonight. Not careful. Not uncertain. Like we’ve finally stopped circling each other and started stepping into whatever this is.
My heart feels too big for my chest.
The newspaper. The party. Peyton’s confession.
Luke very clearly falling in love with a woman who probably owns decorative hand towels.
Everything feels bright and surreal and weirdly perfect.
And underneath all of it is this overwhelming sense of freedom.
Like somewhere along the way I stopped apologizing for wanting things.
I back him toward the bedroom this time, laughing when his eyebrows lift slightly in surprise.
“Oh?” he murmurs.
“Don’t make it weird.”
“You are literally pushing me toward a bed.”
“Okay, yes, fair point.”
He laughs properly then, warm and unrestrained, and God, I love that sound. The realization slips into my chest so naturally it doesn’t even scare me. I love this. I love him.
The bedroom light spills softly across the floor as we stumble inside, still kissing, still smiling too much to manage anything smoothly. At one point, he tries to pull his shirt over his head and almost gets stuck in it.
I laugh so hard, I’m out of breath.
“This is the best day of my life,” I announce.
He finally frees himself. “Good. I was aiming for top five.”
“Ambitious.”
“I believe in myself.”
I pull him back to me before he can say anything else, and the laughter softens into something warmer as he settles between my knees, his forehead resting briefly against mine.
I just look at him. Really look at him. At the man who stumbled into my life and somehow helped me become more myself than I’ve ever been. Emotion clogs my throat.
His eyes soften immediately. “Hey. What happened?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly. “Good nothing.”
His hand slides along my jaw gently and I swallow hard.
“I just…” I let out a shaky laugh. “I’m really happy.”
The words feel bigger than they should. Because I haven’t been able to say that honestly in a very long time. Something shifts in his expression at that. Softer still, deeper than I can put into words.
Then he kisses me again, slower this time, and I melt into it completely. Into the way his tongue breaches my lips and dances with mine. He undresses me with infinitely more grace than he did himself, his fingers teasing my skin as they remove any barrier between us.
Fire licks at my skin as he peppers kisses down my neck to my breast, capturing a nipple between his teeth and tugging gently.
I hiss in a breath, which is quickly followed by a moan.
My hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer still in a silent plea for more.
He bends and scoops me up, carrying me to the bed.
Every movement drags me against him in the most distracting way possible.
I’m sure I’m leaving my juices all over his abs. He isn’t complaining, though.
He lays me on the bed and crawls over my body. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
“You say that all the time,” I tease.
“Aren’t journalists all about seeking out the truth?”
“Yeah?” My brain feels pleasantly useless right now.
“So believe me.”
He covers my mouth with his. The kiss that was sweet earlier is now rushed and uncoordinated and wild. I writhe beneath his hard body. “Teddy, I want you.”
He groans into my mouth as he thrusts into me. I stretch around his hard length, adapting to his size before raising my hips, signaling that I want more while he devours my mouth.
As always he sees me. He knows exactly what I need. He pumps his hips, every thrust unraveling me a little more.
“God, Teddy. Yes!”
“You feel so fucking good.”
“I’m close. I’m going to come.”
His mouth finds mine again, and he swallows my cries as I explode around him. Moments later, I feel him release into me as he groans my name, and I wish I could capture the sound in a bottle.
The rest of the night unfolds in pieces I know I’ll remember forever. Warm skin. Tangled sheets. Kisses that keep breaking because one of us starts smiling. His hands exploring me over and over like he has all the time in the world. Mine doing the same.
Later, I end up sprawled across his chest while his fingers trace lazy patterns along my back.
“You know,” I murmur sleepily, “this is probably excellent newspaper material.”
He groans. “Absolutely not.”
“Local photographer?—”
“No.”
“—emotionally supportive during extremely important?—”
His hand covers my mouth as I giggle against his palm.
And somewhere between the warmth of him beneath me and the sound of our laughter filling the room, it hits me all over again.
This is the life I wanted.
I just didn’t know I was allowed to have it.