Page 106 of Ashes of Us
God, I’d forgotten this. How he tasted like coffee and something else that was just him. How his hands knew exactly where to touch. How my body remembered his even when my brain was still catching up.
We broke apart just long enough to breathe, foreheads pressed together, both of us shaking.
"I'm still scared," I admitted against his mouth.
"Me too." His thumb traced my cheekbone, wiping away tears I didn't know were still falling. "But I'm not going anywhere. Not unless you tell me to."
"Don't go."
"I won't."
I kissed him again. Slower this time but no less desperate. His hands slid from my face to my waist, pulling me flush against him, and I went willingly. Let myself press into the solid warmth of him, let myself want this without the voice in my head screaming warnings.
When we broke apart again, we were both breathing hard. My apartment felt warmer. Charged with something that had been building for months.
"Piper." His voice was rough. Wrecked. "If we're doing this, if we're really doing this, I need you to be sure."
"I'm not sure about anything," I said honestly. "Except that I don't want you to leave."
Heat and tenderness and hunger flashed across his face.
"Then I'm staying."
He kissed me again and this time I didn't think about the past or the fear or the ways this could go wrong.
I just let myself fall.
CHAPTER 40: LIAM
Iwoke up before her.
The November light was creeping through her bedroom window, soft and gray, turning everything the color of early morning possibilities. She was still asleep beside me, face pressed into the pillow, hair spilled across white cotton like ink in water, one hand curled beneath her chin in that way she'd always slept, like she was protecting something fragile even in her dreams.
I didn't dare move. Just lay there and looked at her like a man who'd been given something he didn't deserve and couldn't quite believe was real.
Her face was softer in sleep, all the careful guards she kept up during the day dissolved into something undefended and true. I could see the faint freckles across her nose that only showed up in summer but had resisted this year’s cold, the small scar above her eyebrow from when she'd fallen off her bike at twelve, the exact way her mouth curved even when she wasn't smiling. Beautiful in the way that mattered—not because she was perfect, but because she was entirely, unmistakably herself.
I'd almost lost this. Almost lost her.
Again.
The thought sat heavy in my chest, sharp-edged and clarifying. Last night she'd looked at me with such devastation, such certainty that I'd betrayed her again, and I couldn't even blame her for thinking it. I'd earned that suspicion. Earned every wall she'd built, every moment of doubt, every careful distance she'd maintained. The fact that she'd let me back in at all felt like grace I hadn't worked hard enough to deserve.
But I would. I'd spend the rest of my life deserving it if she'd let me.
She shifted slightly, made a small sound, and my breath caught. But she didn't wake. Just burrowed deeper into the pillow, her hand relaxing against the sheets.
I wanted to touch her. Wanted to trace the line of her shoulder, the curve of her spine, wanted to press my mouth to the space behind her ear and feel her wake up slowly against me. But I held still. Let myself just look. Let myself memorize this moment: her in my arms, morning light, the apartment quiet except for our breathing.
This woman who'd built a business from scratch after I'd destroyed everything. Who made cinnamon rolls that sold out by nine AM and somehow made spreadsheets feel like poetry. Who was stubborn and careful and so goddamn brave it made my chest ache. Who'd let herself be vulnerable with me last night despite every reason not to.
I'd spent almost two years trying to become someone worth that vulnerability. Someone who showed up, did the work., and didn't take the easy way out when things got hard.
I wasn't perfect at it. Probably never would be. But, by God, I was trying. And I'd keep trying every single day.
Her eyes opened.
For a second, she just looked at me, sleep-soft and confused. Then recognition slid in. Memory. Her expression shiftedthrough about six emotions in three seconds before landing on something that looked almost shy.
