Emma St. Clair

I give Lindy my most charming, hard-to-resist smile. “Last chance to run.”

Lindy’s eyes narrow. “Is that a challenge, Patty?”

“Nah. I just need to stretch if I’m going to have to chase you.”

But then Lindy looks up at me with a goofy smile that actually looks sincere. Romance, flowers, string quartets—who needs all that when I have her?

“And while you’ve got a great support system here, you’ve done so much on your own. Through force of will and force of caring. You have the biggest heart.”

I sniff, realizing the tears have regrouped and made an appearance again. They’re a little more like happy tears now.

“I don’t have a big heart. It’s all wrinkled and shriveled up. Like a raisin. It’s a raisin heart.”

“Oh, I think it’s bigger than a raisin, darlin’.”

“A prune, then.”

He snorts. “It’s the most beautiful prune heart in the world.”

I have no question. This is my life. She is my life. She and Jo and whatever else might come our way.

The weird part is, I may have surrendered, but it somehow feels like I’ve won. I gave up everything, lost nothing, and gained even MORE.

Is this what love is like?

“Thank you,” I say, running my hands over his arms, feeling the muscles flex there.

“For what?”

“Where do I start? For chasing after me, even when I tried to chase you away. For marrying me. For all the things you fixed. For all the surprises, like this one. For loving Jo. For loving me so well, even when I don’t deserve it.”

“You do,” he insists, nuzzling his face into my hair. “You deserve so many good things, Lindy. You are my solid ground. My place of rest. My forever home.”

“I don’t need a grand gesture,” he repeats, shaking his head for emphasis. “I just need you.”

Letting go feels like love. Giving in feels like freedom.

I want Pat. In all the ways I can have him. My husband. My friend. My lover. My family, my forever.

I’d happily make vows to Pat every morning and renew them again at night.

Because this? This is everything.

We’ll probably make a lot of mistakes together. But together, we’re better than we are apart. We’re more.

“Those rules may be void, but the piece of paper saying we’re married still stands. Are you okay with that? Are you okay being mine, so long as we both shall live, for real?”

“More than okay,” I tell him, pulling back enough to meet his eyes. “Now, stop standing here talking and take me home, husband.”