"And if I never try to push you away? If I never get scared again?"
"Then you'll still have me. Every day, every night, for the rest of our lives." I trace the line of her collarbone with one finger, feel her shiver at the touch. "You'll have a husband who loves you more than breathing, who would move mountains to make you happy."
"I love you too." The words come out soft, wondering, like she still can't quite believe she gets to say them. "I love you so much it scares me sometimes. But other times, it makes me want to be brave enough to deserve this happiness."
"Lisa." I cup her face in my hands, and make sure she can see the truth in my eyes. "You don't have to deserve happiness. You just have to accept it."
"I'm learning."
"Good. Because I plan to spend the next fifty years making you so happy you forget what sadness feels like."
"Fifty years?"
"At least. Maybe longer if the technology improves."
That earns me a laugh, bright and genuine and completely unguarded. The sound goes straight to my chest, settling in the space right next to my heart.
"I love it when you laugh," I tell her, leaning down to kiss the smile from her lips. "I love everything about you, but your laugh might be my favorite."
"Just my laugh?"
"Well, your laugh and the way you make that soft sound when I touch you here." I demonstrate, running my thumb across the sensitive spot just below her ear, and she makes exactly the sound I was talking about.
"And the way you say my name when I do this." My hand trails lower, finding the spot that makes her breathing change, makes her grip my shoulders and arch against me.
"Sawyer." The word comes out breathless, needy, perfect.
"That's the one."
I take my time undressing, let her watch as I reveal skin she's already explored, muscles she's already mapped with her hands and mouth. The hunger in her eyes, the way she looks at me like I'm everything she's ever wanted, makes me feel ten feet tall and completely invincible.
When I finally join her on the bed, when I cover her body with mine and feel her soft curves fit perfectly against my hard angles, it's like coming home.
"I used to dream about this," I confess against her neck. "About having you in my bed, in my life, in my arms like this."
"What did you dream?"
"That you'd look at me the way you're looking at me right now. Like I'm worth loving." I kiss my way down her throat, across her collarbone, lower. "That you'd trust me enough to let me take care of you."
"I do trust you." Her hands thread through my hair, holding me close. "I trust you with everything."
"Good." I look up at her, see the love and trust and desire written clearly across her face. "Because I'm going to take care of you for the rest of my life."
I show her exactly what that promise means.
I worship every inch of her skin, learn all over again what makes her gasp and moan and arch beneath me. I take my time, make it good for her, and make sure she knows how precious she is to me.
When she finally falls apart in my arms with my name on her lips like a prayer, it's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard.
Afterward, we lie tangled together in the lamplight, her head on my chest, her breathing slowly returning to normal. The house is quiet around us, peaceful in a way that speaks of safety and permanence and home.
"Sawyer?" Her voice is soft, and satisfied.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
"For what?"
