Page 86 of The CEO and the Mountain Man

Healing had, for better or worse, allowed him to feel things more deeply and to realize how badly he’d been hurt in the first place. On those days, he would draw, letting his charcoals tell the truth, no matter how dark and foreboding. Some days, that little figure in the sketch was bent over double, attacked from all sides.

Then again, he had days when color found its way into his sketches. A red tulip here, a pair of blue eyes there, the palest strip of yellow sunlight.

Which was to say that this had been one long, mostly terrible, genuinely amazing year. I would do anything still, give any amount of money, give up anything—anyone—for my son to not have gone through that.

Since that wasn’t possible, since the only way was forward, I was so, so proud of how far we’d come.

Beau slid in behind me at the bathroom sink, kissing my ear as I dragged the razor down my cheek.

“You look handsome,” I said, admiring his red and green plaid button-down, Wranglers, and going-out boots.

I loved dating a cowboy, by the way. My favorite part, hands down, was discovering that there were levels of hat and boot, depending on the situation. And Christmas dinner was a fancy hat, fancy boot sort of affair.

“You look like mine,” he answered, kissing my cheek.

I willed myself not to tear up before I finished shaving my face. I was mostly successful.

Finishing quickly, I wiped off the excess foam and turned to face him. “Did I miss any spots?”

“I dunno, let me check,” he murmured, kissing every inch of my face.

“I don’t have hair on my forehead,” I pointed out.

“I’m just being thorough. Shush.”

I chuckled as he worked his way around to my mouth.

When I finally stopped laughing enough for his lips to land on mine, I found myself amazed that each kiss we shared was more exciting than the last.

Finally, after several long, delicious kisses, we pulled back, staring into each other’s eyes. We’d taken it slow, slower than River and Miguel. We’d said a lot of things in the hospital but decided to take everything down a notch. No assumptions. No promises. Just … getting to know one another.

None of that slowed what was happening in my heart. I’d fallen in love so deeply I didn’t think I’d ever find my way out of it. Still, I’d been weighing the words on my tongue for months now. And something about right now, about this small, intimate moment in the bathroom, felt right.

“I love you,” I said, running my thumb along his jawline.

My big cowboy, with all of his muscles and brawn, started to cry. “Oh, thank God,” he responded.

And just like that, we were both blubbering. Holding onto each other and just … weeping.

Finally, after the waterworks started to dissipate, I pulled back enough to brush my tears away and put a saucy hand on my hip. “Well? Don’t you wanna say anything back to me?”

He sniffed as he wiped away his own tears, then stroked his beard, as if considering.

I poked his side.

“I’ve loved you since the beginning,” he rumbled in that deep, mountain accent of his. “And I love you now more than ever.”

Well, fuck. More tears.

“God, we’re pathetic.”

He kissed the teardrops from my cheeks. “I don’t mind pathetic.”

“Oh, good. That works in my favor.”

He smiled, broad and warm. “I love you so damn much.”

“I love you, I love you, I love you too,” I sing-songed, dropping a kiss on his lips for each declaration.