"We should get dressed," I say, though I make no move to follow through on the suggestion.
"Should we?" she asks drowsily. "I'm quite comfortable, thanks."
"What if someone comes looking for you?"
"They can knock," she says with a yawn. "I'm not going anywhere."
The declaration sends warmth flooding through me. She's not going anywhere. Someone wants to stay.
I pull my jacket from my chair down over us, cocooning us in warmth and soft fabric. Maddy makes a contented sound and burrows closer, her head finding the perfect spot on my shoulder.
"Mason?" she whispers.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For being brave enough to show me who you are."
The words hit square in my chest, knocking the air from my lungs in a way that feels sharper than I expect. Because that's what I did, isn't it? I let her see past the careful walls and corporate armor to the man underneath, flawed, guilty, and trying hard to be better.
And somehow, she decided he was worth her time.
I press a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair, the lingering traces of our lovemaking. "Thank you for seeing me."
She stays still for so long I think she's fallen asleep. Then she whispers, "I think I love you, you know."
My heart stops. I can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything but lie there stunned by the gift she's handed me.
"Maddy"
"You don't have to say it back," she says quickly. "I wanted you to know."
"I think I love you too," I say, the words coming easily now that she's given me permission to feel them.
She lifts her head to look at me, eyes bright with unshed tears. "Really?"
"Really." I cup her face in my hands, my thumbs brushing her cheekbones. "I love your creativity. Your passion. The way you refuse to see limits even when the whole world tells you they're there. I love that you made me want to be a man who deserves to stand beside you."
Tears spill down her cheeks, quiet and radiant, and she doesn't try to hide them.
"You were that man," she whispers. "You forgot. And maybe I didn't help. Maybe I saw shadows from someone else and mistook them for yours."
Her voice wobbles, and she places her hand over mine. "I promise, I won't judge you by the damage someone else left behind. You don't deserve to be haunted by another's ghosts."
I let out a breath, half laugh, half ache. "Trust me, I've got more than enough of my own."
She grins, but it's soft, solemn. "We all do. But we live through seasons, Mason. And you ... you've been surviving winter for so long, you forgot what spring feels like."
I swallow hard, throat tight. "And you?"
"I like messy seasons. The ones that surprise you."
We kiss then, slow and certain. When we part, she rests her head against my chest with a contented sigh.
"I love you," she says again, testing the words like they're precious.
