A tear spills down her cheek and slides along her jaw. I catch it with my thumb.
“I don’t care what the world says. About us. About why I’m here. They don’t know the first goddamn thing about how I feel when you walk into a room. Or how long I’ve been aching to belong to someone who makes me feel the way you do. You don’t just carry my heart, Mac. You are my heart.”
She falls against me, burying her face into my bare chest, over the very name that now lives there forever.
And as I wrap my arms around her, I swear to myself and to her—
there is no next love.
No backup plan.
There is only her.
My forever.
Mac sits at the vanity, the light from the mirror casting a soft glow across her face. I stay back, leaning in the doorway, arms crossed loosely over my chest, trying to act casual—but the truth is, I’m caught.
Completely fucking caught.
She’s brushing something onto her cheeks with slow, practiced sweeps, her movements fluid and calm. Focused. Controlled. Like this isn’t the first Halloween she’s done alone—like she’s had years of quietly building herself back up when no one was watching.
But I’m watching now.
And I can’t look away.
Her costume is already on—sweet and sexy, innocent and not at all. The baby-blue satin clings to her waist, flaring around her thighs. That little white apron. The knee-high socks. It should be playful, but on her, it’s dangerous. Like she could walk right into your story and rewrite the ending without even trying.
Then she reaches up and pulls the scrunchie from her hair.
And I swear to God, I forget how to breathe.
Her wild blonde hair tumbles down like it’s been waiting for this moment—unfurling in waves and soft curls, falling like silk to the small of her back. The sight of it—raw and unfiltered—is enough to knock the air out of me. Every inch of her, untouched and real and beautiful in a way I don’t think she even realizes.
She glances at me in the mirror, catching my reflection.
“What?” she asks, soft and a little self-conscious.
I shake my head slowly, stepping in. “You’re… Dios mio, Mac.”
She turns on the stool to face me, brow lifting, a shy smile tugging at her mouth. “That bad?”
“That good,” I breathe, stepping closer. “That impossible.”
She watches me with those eyes that see too much, her hands still resting in her lap.
“I’ve never seen anything more beautiful,” I say, voice low. “Not in this life… not in any.”
Color floods her cheeks, but she doesn’t look away this time. She lets me say it. Let’s me feel it.
And I do—every part of her in my blood, in my bones, in every beat of my goddamn heart.
I reach out, gently tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes flutter closed at the touch, just for a second.
“I like your makeup,” I murmur. “But I love your face without it.”
She smiles at that, tilting her chin up, looking at me like maybe this moment—just the two of us, suspended between the past and whatever comes next—is enough.
“I thought you were supposed to be mad,” she teases.
