Page 82 of Shuttered Hearts

“I don’t know about that, but I do know any kid would be lucky to have you as their dad,” she says, brushing my hair out of my eyes.

“I do know. You will love your kids fiercely. They’ll never doubt how much they’re wanted or loved with you as their mother.” We’ve never discussed this, and while it hadn’t felt right to talk about it when it was unclear if she was staying, it feels right to ask now. I study her face, not wanting to miss anything. “Do you want kids?”

“Someday.” Her eyes move over my face before settling on my eyes. “It scared me before, the idea of bringing a kid into this world. If I could walk away from them the same way my mother did me. You’ve made me reconsider all of it. It feels safe to imagine having kids now. As long as it’s with you.”

I lower my head, bringing my lips to hers. “Good answer,” I whisper against her lips before finally kissing her.

I know there’s still a lot for us to discuss and figure out. I started this morning worried Quinn was done with me, and while she might be with me now, that doesn’t mean everything will go perfectly from here on out.

But I can’t help the optimism that seeps through me, knowing today was a massive step in the right direction. It felt good to lay all our cards on the table. It gives me hope that we’re going to make this work.

Tonight, I’m going to soak in this happy feeling with the woman I love in my bed, knowing she loves me in return. And, for now, that is more than enough.

“Hey, Dec,” Quinn whispers against my lips.

“Yeah, Bug?”

“Can I touch your butt now?”

A laugh bursts out of me, but I definitely let her touch my butt, among other things.

thirty-eight

QUINN

I wakeup on Christmas morning in Declan’s bed, alone. Though, it’s not a surprise—this is how I have woken up each morning this week, ever since we came home from the hospital.

I wanted to be upset about it, just a little, but I couldn’t be, because that next morning I found him painting. He’d turned his sunroom into a makeshift studio until he could build something better. Something he’s eager to do.

When I finally found him that Sunday morning, he rushed me out of the room, telling me I wasn’t allowed to see what he was working on until he was finished. I wanted to be upset about that too, but again, I couldn’t be. I was honestly just so happy he picked up a paintbrush again.

It’s easy to see how much he loves painting. You can see it in the way he talks about it. His entire face lights up, and he becomes so animated. Like he can’t hold back from sharing his enthusiasm for something he loves. That he lost his love for it—even for a little bit—makes me hate Melissa, just the smallest amount.

Declan is a good man—one of the best. He goes above and beyond, not just for the people he cares about but for everyone in his life. I understand you have to do what makes you happy in life. Otherwise, there’s no point to any of it. But I will never understand how Melissa could do what she did to Declan.

Granted, in a slightly messed up way, I’m glad she did. If she hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here, lying in a bed surrounded by all that is him.

I roll over and grab his pillow, burying my nose, taking a deep breath, and smiling. This week has honestly been fantastic. With Declan and I being on break from school for the holiday and Ava being back in Boston, we’ve been staying at his place. And while he’s been spending a lot of time painting, we’ve also spent a lot of time together, just the two of us. Talking, laughing, loving, just existing in the same space.

I will be forever grateful for the friendship we developed first. That friendship has given us such a strong foundation. One I’m enjoying building upon.

“Morning, Bug,” Declan says as he comes back into the room, climbing into the bed behind me. “Merry Christmas,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the spot behind my ear.

“Merry Christmas.” I roll over to face him, a smile on my face.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, rolling me to my back, his body over mine, peppering kisses over my face.

“How happy I am. How great this week has been. How excited I am to see this painting you’ve been working on.” My hands trail over his bare shoulders and down his back.

“Hmm,” he hums. “Well, I agree. This week has been amazing. I’ve loved waking up to you each morning.”

“I wish I could say the same,” I joke with him, my smile growing wider.

He pinches my side, glaring at me in mock irritation. “I’m not sorry about it. I’ve enjoyed being back in a studio.”

“I’ve loved seeing you get excited about your art. I’m not mad about it.” I pull his head back down, my lips brushing his. “We’ve got a lifetime to wake up to each other, right?” I whisper against him.

“That’s the plan.” He pulls back just enough to see my face. “I finished the painting.”

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