Page 62 of Falling For You

It was a good night. One of those nights that didn't feel like it was going to matter until we were driving home and I realized it already did.

Birdie fell asleep in the truck on the way back. Wyatt carried her inside while I locked up behind us.

I stood in the doorway of Birdie's room and watched him lay her down. He pulled the blanket up to her chin, kissed her forehead, and stayed there for a moment before he eased the door shut behind him.

"I had a good time tonight," I said. "I'm glad Birdie has Suzie."

"I like them. The Parks are really nice. And listen, I'm sorry about the mom thing. She ambushed you and I didn't know she was going to⁠—"

"Don't apologize for that."

He looked at me. The hallway was quiet. Birdie's sound machine hummed through her closed door.

He wrapped his arms around my waist and leaned in, pressing his mouth to mine.

His hands cradled my face. He kissed me like he'd been waiting all evening for exactly this. My fingers curled into the front of his sweater and pulled him closer.

He lifted me. My legs wrapped around his waist as he carried me down the hall to his bedroom. He kicked the door shut behind us and laid me on his bed.

He took his time undressing me. The sweater first, then everything underneath it, his mouth tracing every inch of skin he uncovered. I arched into him when his lips brushed my stomach. He looked up at me and the expression on his face made my breath catch.

He moved lower. His mouth grazed the inside of my thigh and my whole body tightened. His hands pressed my hips into the mattress and then his tongue was on me and I stopped thinking.

He was patient. Reading every sound I made and adjusting, circling the spot that made my fingers twist into the sheets. I said his name. He pulled me closer, his grip on my thighs tightening, and the heat climbed until I couldn't hold still anymore. My back arched off the bed and I came apart with his name on my lips.

He kissed his way back up my body. My ribs, the hollow of my throat, the corner of my jaw. I could taste myself on him and instead of pulling away I drew him in.

"You okay?" he murmured.

I watched him reach into the nightstand drawer for a condom. He tore it open and rolled it on. I kissed him once more. Then I turned over. Looked at him over my shoulder.

The look on his face changed. His hands gripped my hips and he pulled me back. I felt him press into me and my face dropped into the pillow.

He started with his chest warm on my back, his lips on my shoulder. His hand slid up my spine and into my hair and I pressed into him. He picked up the pace. His breathing roughened at my neck as I matched him, pushing back every time he pushed forward. His arm wrapped around my waist and pulled me upright. His lips grazed my ear.

"Andy."

I turned my head and he kissed me. Deep, unhurried, his hips never stopping. The tension coiled tighter, deeper, starting somewhere low and spreading through every part of me. His hand slipped between my legs and I broke the kiss because I couldn't breathe.

He finished first. I felt him shudder, his arm tightening around me, his forehead pressing into my shoulder. His hand stayed where it was and I followed a moment later, my fingers gripping his forearm, his name caught somewhere between my teeth and the pillowcase.

We stayed like that until our breathing evened out. He pulled out gently and we collapsed into the sheets. He reached for me and pulled me close, my head finding his chest, his arm settling around me, his thumb tracing my shoulder.

"The other day, Birdie asked if I was going to marry you."

I let it hang in the air for a while. "She did? What did you say?"

"I said it depends if Andy wants me to."

I laughed. I couldn't help it. I lifted my head up and kissed him. I felt him smile against my mouth. He pulled back and looked at me.

"I love you, Andy."

I looked at this man. This man who endured months of my attitude and never once took it personally. Who showed up at every call, every dinner, every morning with the same steady patience. Who made me laugh on days I didn't think I could. Who sat on his couch and listened to the worst parts of my life. Who braided his daughter's hair badly for six years and never stopped trying. Who looked at me like I was something worth keeping long before I believed him.

I loved him. I'd loved him longer than I'd been willing to say it.

"Cassandra."