Page 164 of Through the Storm

“You give him everything every day.” He meets my eyes. “Wanting a little space doesn’t change that. You’re an amazing mom,” he adds. “The fact that you even worry about this? That’s the proof.”

“I love being his mom,” I add softly. “I just… also love being me.”

His hand tightens around mine. “Good,” he says. “Because I love you.”

The breeze lifts my hair and the wine settles warm in my veins. And I stop arguing with the peace I feel.

Back at the inn, our room is quiet, the ocean just barely audible through the window. I hesitate when I step inside. My body feels different now. It’s softer. It’s not the college cheerleader body I used to have.

Ben notices immediately.

“Hey,” he says, stepping closer. “What’s going on?”

I shake my head, even though it’s obvious. “Nothing. I just…” My arms cross over my stomach without thinking. “I don’t look like I used to.”

He doesn’t pause for a second. “Yeah,” he says easily. “You look better.”

I blink. “Ben?—”

“I’m serious.” His hand slides along my waist, slow and deliberate. “You look like the woman who gave me a son.”

My breath catches.

“You look like you,” he adds. “And for the record…” His mouth brushes beneath my ear, his hands moving up, warm and sure, settling at my chest. “I’m a big fan of the upgrades.”

“Ben!”

“What?” he murmurs. “I’m just being honest.”

A breathless laugh slips out of me.

This time, I don’t wait. I pull him in first.

The kiss starts slow. Deep. Familiar in a way that feels new again.

Then his hands find the hem of my shirt, and I go still. He notices, and instead of lifting it, he looks at me.

“Can I?” he asks.

The question catches me off guard.

I nod.

He eases the fabric over my head with the same care he’s shown me these last few months, and when I’m standing in front of him again, I instinctively fold my arms across myself.

He gently takes my wrists.

“Let me see you, baby, don’t hide from me.”

“I’m not hiding.”

His smile is impossibly patient. “Katy Cat.”

I let out a tiny sigh and lower my arms.

His eyes travel over me—not hungrily, not critically. Just... appreciatively.

“I love this body,” he says quietly.