Page 80 of The Man in the Cottage

"You did everything." His voice is serious now, his eyes holding mine. "You made me believe I could be more than the worst thing I've ever done. You gave me a reason to try again."

"Travis."

"I mean it. I was ready to disappear forever. Hide in that cottage until everyone forgot who I was. But then you showed up, and you saw me—really saw me—and I thought... maybe I don't have to hide anymore."

I don't know what to say. So I just kiss him, right there in the tunnel, not caring who sees.

Someone clears their throat behind us. Travis pulls back, grinning, and I turn to see Jaxson Morris standing there with an amused expression.

"So this is the famous Kelly," Jaxson says. "Travis has told me approximately nothing about you, which means he's completely in love."

"That's not—" Travis starts.

"It's nice to meet you," I say, shaking Jaxson's hand. "I've heard a lot about you. The Tuesday night dinners. The terrible advice about women."

"That was one time." Jaxson turns to Travis. "I like her. She's got your number."

"She does," Travis admits. "She really does."

We walk out of the arena together, Travis's hand in mine, the cold night air sharp against my face. There are cameras outside, photographers shouting questions, but Travis just waves and keeps walking. No statement. No explanation. Just the two of us, together, letting the world see what we are.

"So," I say as we reach the car. "How does it feel? Being back?"

Travis considers the question. "Good. Really good." He opens the door for me. "But you know what feels better?"

"What?"

"Coming home to you."

I roll my eyes, but I'm smiling. "That was cheesy."

"Doesn't make it less true."

He's right. It doesn't.

I get in the car, and he closes the door behind me. Through the window, I can see him standing there for a moment, looking up at the arena, at the lights still blazing against the night sky. Then he walks around to the driver's side and slides in beside me.

"Ready?" he asks.

"Ready."

He starts the car, and we pull out of the parking lot, leaving the arena behind. We’re driving through the dark, holding hands across the console, heading home.

Home. That's what it is now. Not a place, but a person.

Him.

Me.

Us.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Travis

The ice feels different now.

Not the surface—that's the same as it's always been, cold and smooth beneath my blades. But something else has changed. The weight I used to carry out here, the pressure that sat on my shoulders every time I stepped onto the rink, it's gone. In its place is something lighter. Something that feels almost like joy.