Epilogue #2
“I missed you.” He kisses me again, letting his lips linger on mine.
He’d been gone for his third away game of the season.
Now that his reputation with management and the sponsors was back on track, he was playing more and better than ever.
Not that I knew much of anything about hockey past what ESPN had to say about it, but Jamie and I still watched the games on TV when we couldn’t go.
“How was the flight?” I ask, stepping back just enough to look at him properly while staying in the circle of his arms.
“Long,” he says, thumb tracing lazy circles on my hip. “But worth it for this.” He glances toward my front door, then back to me. “Mind if I come in? I have something for you.”
“Besides the flowers?” I raise an eyebrow, curious.
“Besides the flowers,” he confirms, brown eyes sparkling.
Inside, afternoon light filters through my living room windows, casting everything in a golden glow.
Subtle tension in Collin’s shoulders betrays his nerves, even as he maintains that easy smile.
There’s something different about him today.
Over these past three months, I’ve learned to read the microscopic shifts in his expression, the way his confidence occasionally wavers when he’s about to say something that matters to him.
He’s been dropping hints lately, not so casual comments here and there.
Last week, when we were grocery shopping and Jamie spotted a bunk bed display, Collin had lingered, studying the price tag.
“That’s a nice setup,” he’d said, voice carefully neutral.
“Perfect for a kid who might want friends over for sleepovers someday.” His eyes had found mine across the store aisle, then quickly looked away.
Then there was the evening he’d shown me paint swatches on his phone, claiming he was “just browsing” while we watched a movie.
The colors were all variations of blue and green.
Jamie’s favorites. When I’d asked why he was looking at paint, he’d shrugged.
“Just thinking about redecorating. Making the spare room more... kid-friendly. You know, for when Jamie visits.” He never presses, always patient and willing to wait.
Truthfully, the idea doesn’t scare me like it used to.
When I catch him studying my kitchen with the calculating eye of someone mentally rearranging furniture, or when Jamie falls asleep between us during movie nights and Collin carries him to bed, it’s like it all seems possible again.
Still, I appreciate his restraint. After Owen’s steamroller approach to every major decision in our relationship, Collin’s patience feels like a gift.
He understands that for me, moving forward means moving slowly.
“Coffee?” I ask, placing the tulips in a vase and reaching for the kettle.
“Please.” He settles onto the couch with that unconscious grace that still catches my attention, long legs stretching out, one arm draped along the back cushions.
I love watching him in my space, the way he makes himself at home without taking over.
It’s a balance I’m still learning to appreciate after years of Owen’s territorial claiming of every room he entered.
When I turn back to him, cups in hand, he’s got that same odd look on his face, knees bouncing up and down only stopping once he realizes I’m watching.
“So,” I say, settling beside him and tucking my legs underneath me.
“What’s this mysterious something you have for me?
” He reaches into his pocket, and for a heart-stopping moment, I think—but no.
What he pulls out is a single key, silver and unremarkable, attached to a simple keychain.
He holds it between us, his expression carefully neutral except for the slight twitch on his face where I can tell he’s biting the inside of his cheek.
My pulse quickens, and I can feel my eyes widen despite my efforts to remain composed. The key gleams in the afternoon light. Collin holds up his free hand, palm out, before I can speak.
“I’m not asking you to move in,” he says quickly, voice steady but gentle.
“We’re doing this your way, as slow as you want.
I just want you to know you can come over whenever you want.
You don’t have to ask. Don’t have to give me a heads up, not even if Jamie’s with you.
You’ve got access to me anytime you want me.
Always.” An open door, literally and figuratively.
The key dangles between us and I can feel my cheeks turning pink, lips curling into a smile at the edges.
“You don’t have to use it,” he continues, brown eyes earnest. “But I want you to have it.”
I reach out without hesitation, my fingers closing around the key and his hand simultaneously.
It’s warm from his skin. Instead of words, I lean into him, my free hand finding the soft wool of his sweater as I press my lips to his.
The kiss is soft, grateful, full of everything I can’t quite articulate.
I pull back just enough to speak, our foreheads still touching, as I mumble against his lips, still smiling.
“Thank you.” His eyes crinkle at the corners and he kisses my nose.
“Always,” he murmurs back and he’s not only talking about the key anymore, but about everything—his patience, his presence, his willingness to let me set the pace of whatever we’re building together.
He’ll always be there. Always be constant.
For the first time in longer than I can remember, I know that it’s true.