Page 147 of From Air

I don’t move. Not a blink. Not a breath.

“It’s rubbing my back and feet while I grow our babies. It’s sending me texts to let me know you’re alive. It’s only taking carefully calculated risks with your life because it’s no longer just yours. It’s football games and trips to the beach. It’s being a part-time homeschool teacher because we both know our kids will do weird but awesome shit, like studying the moon cycles and poring over books about world wars and sinking ships.”

Just when I think she can’t stretch her neck any further or set her jaw any firmer, she does. She waits patiently (and guardedly) for me to disappoint her again.

“Can you do that, Fitz?Allof that?”

Again, I open my mouth and start to take the final step.

And again, she stops me. But she can’t stop her tears. “And my f-father is dying.” Her lower lip quivers. “And I know that makes you h-happy.” She sniffles and wipes her face. “But it’scrushingme.” She bites her lips together and gulps more emotion. “And I need younever tosay anything hurtful about h-him again.” She holds her breath and shakes her head, voice barely audible. “I’mtrulysorry. I know he’sresponsible for your family dying. And Ihatethat he caused you that kind of loss and pain. And I hate that he won’t live long enough to be of sound mind, because I believe if he really understood what he did, his remorse would be so heavy that his heart would sink to the bottom of the ocean. I hate everything about that fire he started. I hate that he did it. But I don’t hatehim.”

She sniffles, lower lip still trembling. “I’ve grown to love him in a complicated way, but Fitz ... I love you more. So. Much. More.”

I kneel before her, wedging my torso between her legs. First, I wipe her tears. Then, I rest the pads of my fingers on the back of her neck. “Everything,” I whisper, brushing my lips against hers.

All the tension drains from her body, and she leans in, wrapping her arms around my neck and kissing me. Jaymes isn’t the girl of my dreams. I never allowed myself that luxury.

She’s the girl who has taught me how to dream.

I don’t know what to say about her father. Fear of saying the wrong thing has a choke hold on me.

Her delicate hands frame my face; residual tears cling to her eyelashes. “Why is the date and hotel address on the bottom of my shoes?”

The rapid subject change draws a laugh from me. I glance over my shoulder at said shoes. “Will thought you’d want something to commemorate the day you lost your shoes so you could find me. He’s an idiot.”

“That’s so romantic.”

I roll my eyes.

“Do you think Mrs. Wilke will be my matron of honor?”

This. Woman.

How does she do it?

How does she open her heart so wide it can encompass the grief of losing her fatherandmy need to breathe—my need to escape the gravity of the moment?

Not much brings me to tears, but Jaymes Andrews owns my emotions. She knows me better than anyone, including myself. And it has nothing to do with “getting to know me.” She simplygetsme.

“I haven’t asked you to marry me. You’re getting ahead of yourself.” She remains statuesque, silently calling my bluff.

“I don’t have the ring,” I say, knowing that I’m going down. I know it. She knows it. But I think she’d be disappointed if I rolled over too easily.

She blinks. That’s it—a single blink.

I grin.

Her soft lips twitch into their own tiny smile, and her thumb slides along my cheekbone.

“For the record,” I continue, “I was coming to get you before I knew you were in town for the weekend. I didn’t consciously know it, but that beating thing behind my rib cage knew it. So we’re not giving Will credit for everything.”

The sparkle in her eyes shines a little brighter the longer I hold out. All she’s giving me is a knowing grin.

I can’t let her win. I’ll propose when I’m ready.

“I don’t know the moon cycles. I’m going to mess things up. I think I’ll be a good father, but we don’t even know if my testicles can be fixed.” Now I’m just grasping.

She breaks form just to give me a slow, reassuring nod.

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