Page 96 of Cross-Checked

His tone is sarcastic, so I playfully retort, “You planning to marry me?”

“Someday.” There isn’t an ounce of lightness, as though he wants me to know he’s dead serious.

A boulder drops on my stomach so fast that the sensation pushes the air right out of my lungs. “Excuse me?” I squeak.

“Which part of that is unclear?” he asks as his eyes search my widened ones.

“The part where we’ve been developing feelings for each other over the past few weeks and you’re already talking about marriage?”

“I already can’t imagine myself with anyone but you, Sunshine. You’ve infiltrated every part of my soul and overrun all my defenses. There’s no part of me that doesn’t want to be with you. It’s okay if you’re still worried about how this will work, or if you’re not thinking far enough into the future to know for sure that everything will work out. I’m optimistic enough for the both of us.”

I huff out a laugh. “You’re optimistic? Since when?”

“I’m optimistic aboutyou, and that’s all that matters. Look at you, standing there holding my baby, and looking at me like you’ve never wanted anything more than this. Us, together...it’s so easy. It’s like it was meant to be. And if you’d stop fighting it, you’d see that too.”

I gulp, before saying quietly, “I’m not fighting it.”

“Maybe not now. But until yesterday, all you could focus on were the reasons this wouldn’t work.”

I close my eyes, relaxing into the moment. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he says, peppering a trail of kisses across my forehead. “There are real obstacles that we’ll need to overcome, and that part won’t be easy. But I don’t think it’s a reason to give up on us.”

“I wasn’t trying to give up on us,” I tell him.

“What were you trying to do, then?” The question is asked with open curiosity, rather than the sarcasm I would have expected given the situation.

My words are small, reflecting how I feel having to admit this. “Protect myself.”

He stiffens slightly, but one of his hands slides to my hip, then rests on my lower back. “From me?”

“From being hurt again.” Though right now, with Abby asleep on me and Tabitha purring in his arms, his lips on my forehead and his voice quiet, I don’t feel in danger of being hurt. It feels...perfect.

“At this point,” I continue, looking down at Abby’s cherub-like face, “I’m sure you know me well enough to know that I’ve avoided relationships since my divorce. I’ve avoided everything but work, and Nicholas.”

“So that you don’t get hurt?”

“Yes. In my experience, relationships are messy and painful. I never wanted to feel that again. I told myself I was never going there again.”

“There?”

“I was married before?—”

“To an asshole.”

“Ronan,” I say, looking up at him pointedly, “not too long ago, I thoughtyouwere an asshole.”

A thin smile graces his lips as he lifts his hand and strokes my jaw with his thumb. “Maybe your judgment’s impaired. It would explain how you thought Chet was a good guy in the first place and were confused about me being an asshole until now.”

“Was I confused? Or were you an asshole until we talked about why I had to trade you?”

His smile widens. “Perhaps a little of both.”

I shift because Abby’s dead weight is hurting my back and arms. The cast on my right arm means my left is bearing most of her weight, and those muscles are clearly not up to the task.

“C’mon,” he says, nodding his chin toward my front door. “Let’s go put Abby to bed so we can finish talking about why I’m not going to let you close yourself off from being happy.”

I glance back into my kitchen at the dishes in the sink and realize that I don’t care about leaving a mess behind. Everything I care about is right in front of me, heading out my door, and I’m going with them.

---