Page 64 of Text Me, Take Me

His thumb pauses for half a beat, then resumes. “All the time.”

“Really?”

A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You sound surprised.”

“I guess I didn’t picture you as a five-year plan guy.”

“I’m not,” he says. “More like… flashes. Moments I’d like to have. Someone there. A house with actual mess in it. Noise that isn’t just the wind or an alarm system.”

“Messy house,” I murmur. “Got it.”

“And maybe,” he adds carefully, “a kid or two running around. Someone small and loud who has your eyes.”

That stops my breath, just for a second. He doesn’t look at me when he says it. Just watches the road like he doesn’t want to press too hard.

“Mine?” I ask, trying to keep it light, teasing, but my voice cracks anyway.

He nods. “Yeah.”

I stare out the window. The canyon is behind us now. The world ahead is wider, less certain. “I used to say I never wanted kids.”

“What changed?”

I turn to him, watching the way the light touches the strong line of his jaw. “I started thinking about what kind of world I’d want them in. And who I’d want to raise them with.”

His hand tightens around mine.

“I’d want someone steady,” I say. “Someone who makes me feel safe even when everything’s on fire. Someone who sees all my worst parts and still shows up, anyway.”

Dom doesn’t speak. He just pulls our joined hands to his lips and kisses the back of mine gently.

“I’d want someone who’d fight for me,” I whisper.

He looks at me then, fully, openly. “You’d have that.”

I nod. My heart’s thudding in my throat, but somehow, I’m calm. “You’d be a good dad.”

He lets out a breath that sounds half like a laugh, half like a prayer. “You’d be an amazing mom.”

Silence stretches between us again, but it’s not empty. It’s full of things we’re not saying yet. Maybe we don’t need to.

We both know what we’re building. And we’re already on the way there.

If we don’t mess this up. If Mason doesn’t somehow get the better of the mob. If I can keep my cool.

If, if, if…

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“There’s still a voice inside me,” I admit, “a scream in the back of my head, telling me I’ve been duped, that your attention and this… this confusion between us has intoxicated me. It’s telling me I need to find a way out. But I don’t want a way out, not really. It’s just what I think Ishouldwant.” I let go of his hand, throwing mine up in exasperation. “Don’t you think it’s crazy we’re talking about a future when it’s been–what? Weeks?”

“The world is crazy, Keepsake,” he says. “A hundred shades of batshit. There are monsters and devils and even the occasional angel. There are horrors I’d never share with you, even though I know you’re strong enough, and tough enough.”

“I can’t disagree about the world,” I mutter. “But what does that have to do with us?”

“When this all started, I had a thought: if stalking you makes me crazy, I don’t want to be sane.”

I laugh, surprising myself. There’s a version of me that would’ve found that shocking, even offensive.

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