Page 102 of Finding You

The tree burn was just as magical as ever. After the kids went home with their grandparents and we had chatted with our friends, Declan and I stood, watching the fire together as fat snowflakes began to fall. He squeezed my hand through my glove, and I felt my heart swell as I stared into the dancing flames.

He turned toward me and gently cupped my cheek. I gazed up at him, his eyes illuminated by the fire. He slowly lowered his mouth and kissed me gently. “Eight years,” he whispered.

I grabbed the back of his neck, feeling the magic of our first kiss coursing through my veins. “How about we head back to the truck?” I asked saucily.

“You want to recreate it?” he asked with a playful grin.

I pulled him so close I could feel his breath on my cheek. “I think I’d like a bit more than kissing,” I said, and I felt his grip on my waist tighten.

“Anything for you, killer.”

I took a chance, coming back to Havenport, leaving the firm, and going after Declan. I was never a risk taker—I was more of a careful strategist. But I had learned a few things over the past eight years, and one of them was that there were risks worth taking. I escaped to Havenport and found myself. But I also found my person. And I was never letting him go.