Page 123 of Combust (Everyday Heroes 2)
His smile is soft. The shake of his head subtle. “It’s you.”
My hands are patting down my hair immediately, looking for more noodles but he just laughs. “What?”
“I like seeing you like this.”
“Like what? Frazzled? A mess? Feeling like I have absolutely no clue what I’m doing? What?”
“All of the above.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Add to that gorgeous.”
“Have you been out drinking with your brothers?” I tease.
“No. Not at all.”
“Are you feeling okay? Feverish?” I narrow my eyes and study him. In the past year I’ve learned how to decipher his expressions, but this is one I’ve never seen before.
“Perfectly fine, why?”
“Then what are you talking about?”
“I like seeing you like this,” he reiterates. “You. Singing to babies with a messy kitchen and pasta in your hair and that smile on your face. I know I love you. I know I told you that us living together was all I could give you . . . but damn it, Dylan, I can’t do this anymore.”
Panic strikes and whiplash hits as I try to figure out the contradiction in his words. “Grady?”
Then it’s as if he realizes what he’s said. He frames my face with his hands and leans in to kiss me. A physical reassurance to stop the sudden panic he’s caused. His kiss is slow and methodical and packed with so much sensuality that I’m kind of wishing the kids weren’t here so we could continue this where we stand.
“I lied to you, Dylan.” He brushes his lips to mine. “It wasn’t intentional, but I did. I told you I couldn’t give you more, but you know what? I don’t think there’s any way I can give you less.”
“What do you mean?”
“I want to walk into our house and see you like this with our kids. I’d give anything to come home from work and have them run out and meet me on the driveway like we used to do with my dad. I want to have nights where the house is a mess and we’re stressed to the gills from them crying and fussing. I want the good, the bad, the ugly in life . . . and I want it with you.”
My eyes sting with tears—the good kind—as I look at him. I think I know what he’s saying.
“You compromised with me, Dylan. You have given me time to work through my fears and doubts. You moved here and gave up your Hollywood life to prove to me this could work when I gave you no promises in return.”
“You didn’t have to give me anything to stay other than your heart. That’s all I wanted, Grady, and you’ve given me that and then some.”
“But you deserve more, Dylan. You deserve the white picket fence and sticky-faced kids and nights where a glass of wine once they’re in bed is the only type of satisfaction you need.”
It’s my turn to laugh and press a kiss to his lips. “Wine is good, but you are much better at satisfying me.”
“Good,” he says. “Because I want to give you all of those things. I told you once I didn’t want to be your whole world, but rather the part you were in. I lied. It isn’t enough. It’ll never be enough with you. I want to be your whole world, Dyl. I want to make the rest with you. I want to fill it with love and laughter and kids and pets and late nights and early mornings. I just want you.”
I reach out and run my fingers down his cheeks, my own words escaping me in the moment.
“I can’t promise you I won’t make you worry. That my job won’t have you worry. But I can promise that you are who I’ll happily come home to each night. That you are who I want to come home to every night. No matter the cost. Marry me, Dylan. Be my wife. Make my life. Make me complete.”
I’m nodding. My mouth is open, but no words are coming out. My tears are falling and still no words are coming out.
And he’s slipping a ring on my finger that I can’t see through the tears and the shock and the love.
Because he’s right. I was willing to settle. To give him what he needed because I didn’t need a piece of paper or his last name to know he loved me. I just needed him. I needed us. And that was more than enough for me.
And now I’ll get the cherry on top. The unexpected dessert.
