Page 34 of Wraith’s Promise

"Permanently," I repeat, testing the word. "That's a big commitment after two days."

"I know what I want." She says it with such certainty, such absolute confidence, that I believe her completely. "I've spent seven years wandering, trying to find something that mattered. And then I walked through your door, and everything clicked into place. That doesn't happen by accident, Dean. That's not something I'm willing to let slip away just because the timeline seems fast."

I kiss her again because I can't not kiss her, because she just said everything I've been feeling but was afraid to voice. "Okay. We'll keep it quiet for now, but we're doing this. For real."

"For real," she confirms.

We lie together in comfortable silence for a few minutes, my hand stroking up and down her spine while her fingers trace idle patterns on my chest.

She settles back against me with a contented sigh, and I let myself enjoy this: the weight of her in my arms, the smell of sex and sweat mixing together, the satisfaction of knowing I've finally found something worth keeping.

Hours later…

I wake to the sound of small feet thundering down the hallway and have approximately three seconds to register that I’m still in Quinn’s bed, still naked under my sheets, before my door bursts open.

"Quinn!! Can we have pancakes for—" Mariah stops mid-sentence, eyes going wide as she takes in the scene. Quinn sitting up beside me, sheets pulled to her chest, hair completely wild. Me shirtless, obviously just woken up.

For a long, terrible moment, nobody says anything.

Then Mariah's face splits into the biggest smile I've ever seen.

"Quinn stayed over!" she announces, delighted. "You had a sleepover!"

"Uh," I say intelligently, my brain still trying to catch up.

"Did you make more cookies?" Mariah asks, climbing onto the bed without invitation. "Did you watch movies? We should all have sleepovers together every night!"

Quinn catches my eye over Mariah's head, and I can see her trying not to laugh. Crisis averted, apparently. Thank god for five-year-old logic.

"We didn't make cookies," Quinn says, voice admirably steady. "Your dad and I were just talking for a long time and fell asleep. That's all."

"Talking is boring," Mariah declares. "Next sleepover we should definitely make cookies."

"Definitely," I agree, still slightly shell-shocked. "But right now, how about you go start getting dressed and we'll make those pancakes you wanted?"

"Okay!" She bounces off the bed with the same energy she brought in. "Chocolate chip pancakes!"

"Regular pancakes," I counter.

"Chocolate chip!"

"We'll discuss it downstairs. Go get dressed, baby girl."

She runs off, already singing about pancakes, and the door closes behind her.

Quinn and I look at each other for a beat, then both burst out laughing.

"Well," she says, "that could've gone worse."

"Much worse." I lean over and kiss her, quick and sweet. "I should probably get back to my room and we should put clothes on before she comes back."

"Probably a good idea."

I watch her climb out of her bed, completely unselfconscious about her nakedness, and have to adjust myself under the sheets because apparently my body has decided we're going again right now.

"Stop looking at me like that," Quinn says without turning around. "We have a child to feed, and I need to be able to walk normally."

"You can walk fine."