Page 165 of Through the Storm

I swallow hard.

“No, listen.” His thumb brushes over my hand. “I’ve loved every single version of you. But this one? This one is my favorite one.”

I shake my head. My arms want to cross again. I don’t let them.

His hands are at my waist, not pulling, just resting. Asking. “Please,don’t hide from me. Not tonight.”

It’s thetonightthat gets me. Like he knows I’ve been hiding. Like he’s been patient about it, and he still is—but tonight he’s asking me to come back to him. Not because he’s angry. Because he misses me.

I exhale. And I let him see me. All of me.

His hands are steady, grounding—never rushing, just following, reminding.

We move together without urgency, like we’re allowed to take our time.

“I want you to see yourself the way I do,” he murmurs against my ear.

My breath catches as he guides me gently toward the dresser, turning me just enough that the mirror catches us both.

“Stay with me,” he says softly. “Don’t look away.”

My fingers tighten against the sheets as I meet my own reflection—flushed, breathless, his body pressed close behind me, his hands everywhere, like he’s memorizing me.

“See that?” he murmurs. “That’s mine.”

The way he says it—low, certain—sends heat rushing through me all over again.

I can’t look away.

Not from him. Not from us.

Not from the way he looks at me like I’m everything.

The tension builds slowly, deliberately—until I’m shaking, breath catching, completely undone under his hands.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, voice rough now. “Just like that.”

When I finally fall apart, it hits hard, pulling his name from my lips before I can stop it.

He follows, pulling me back against him, holding me there as we both catch our breath.

He pulls me close after, his arm around me, my head against his chest. The room is warm and still. Outside, the ocean keeps going,indifferent and steady, like it was doing this long before us and will keep doing it long after.

I don’t want to move. I don’t.

We fall asleep like that. Because parents to a baby.

When I wake up, the room is dim, the sky darker, the world quieter. And Ben’s already watching me.

“Come on.” He offers me his hand. “Let’s go for a walk.”

The beach is cool beneath our feet, the air sharp and cold.

We walk for a while without speaking, our hands interlaced.

Then he stops.

“Katy.”