Page 121 of Returned Mail

“You're not asking,” I interrupt gently. “I’m telling you. This is your home too. You don't need to keep paying rent. You don't need to sleep in the other room or pretend you're not already woven into every piece of this place.” I pull back just enough to look at her. “You're already here. I want you to stop acting like you might leave.”

She's quiet for a long moment, and I can see the fear flickering across her face—the part of her that's waiting for the catch, the rejection.

“Are you sure?” she asks, her voice so small it almost breaks me.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m sure.” I take her chin gently and tilt her face up to mine. “I love you, Mia. I’ve known this for a while now. I just— I didn’t know if it was okay for me to say it.” The words leave me like they've been waiting on the tip of my tongue for months.

She gasps. A soft, broken little sound. Then she whispers, “I love you too.”

My chest cracks open. I pull her into me, wrapping my arms around her. The blanket falls around us both, and she melts into my chest. Her breath is warm against my skin. Her fingers curl into my back like she's anchoring herself to something she's finally allowed to want.

“You're not going anywhere,” I murmur against her lips.

She pulls back just enough to look at me, her eyes still shining with tears, but smiling now. “Neither are you,” she says. And there's something in her voice, a certainty, a claiming. Like she's not just accepting my promise, she's making one right back.

And in this moment, with Monica gone, with the storm finally quiet, with Mia choosing me right back, everything feels exactly right. This is the woman I chose. The woman I want. The woman I'm going to keep.

For the first time since I left for deployment, I believe it.

I believe we have a future, and it is with her.

Chapter Forty

Mia

I’m still shaking after that ‘I love you’ and the way he is kissing me right now.

It feels way different from the ones we shared before, the passionate ones. This is softer, slower. They are not filled with want or sexual tension. They are filled with…love.

My hands slide up his chest, over his shoulders, around his neck, pulling him closer and closer to me. He fits against me like the missing piece of a life that never quite sat right until now.

Until him.

I can't even imagine how he must've felt when he saw Monica after everything he's gone through. Let alone having her find us in bed. On their bed. I need to stop thinking like that. This is my bed now. Our bed. Our home. She's no longer welcome here, not in this space, not between us. And the fact that he made that abundantly clear, that he chose me without hesitation, did something to me I can't quite name.

The blanket slips from my shoulders and pools around our feet. His hands settle at my waist, gentle and careful, his thumbs brushing my skin. The touch sends electricity through me.

“Are you okay, sweetheart? he asks softly, pulling back just enough to see my face. “You disappeared on me a little.”

I lean into his touch instead of answering, kissing him again. The way he's looking at me makes my chest ache, like he sees every messy, complicated part of me and somehow likes what he finds.

“I’m here,” I whisper against his lips. “I’m right here.”

He kisses me again, and again, like he needs the reassurance as much as I do.

I slide my hands beneath the hem of his shirt, fingertips brushing his warm skin. He lifts the shirt slowly, and I'm just enjoying the view. He still has a few very visible scars, but they're healing nicely. I slide my hands across his chest, brushing over them briefly. He doesn't react anymore. That's progress.

He reaches for my shirt, and my arms lift automatically. His gaze lingers afterward, and suddenly I feel exposed in a way that has nothing to do with clothes. Heat rushes into my face.

“Don't look at me like that,” I whisper.

His mouth curves slightly. “Like what?”

I swallow hard, struggling with the words. “Like I’m—” The insecurity sits heavy on my tongue. “Like I'm too much.”

Something shifts in his expression, something sweeter. “You're not too much, Mia.” He says, his hand finding my face, tilting it toward his. “You're exactly right. Exactly what I need.”

The words hit harder than they should. Hard enough that my eyes sting with tears I didn't expect.