Page 33 of Decked By The Grumpy Golem
"I'm tired of being afraid too," I tell him, meaning every word. "I'm tired of running from the only thing that's ever felt like home."
Frustrated by his stunned silence, I grab him by the front of his shirt and kiss him. He freezes for a few seconds in shock, his lips motionless under mine, and panic floods my system. But then he melts into it, kissing me back with all the years of longing he's bottled up. His mouth is desperate, claiming, like he's trying to pour a decade of love into this single moment.
Around us, I vaguely hear the family shuffling. Ernesto clears his throat gruffly, and Mom makes soft cooing sounds as she ushers the girls toward the house. Blushing like I’m a Christmas ornament, I pull back from Gideon’s kiss. His hands hold me firmly in place against him as I turn to look at my family.
"Come on, girls," Mara says, her voice warm with amusement. "Let's go make hot chocolate and let Aunt Lucia and Uncle Gideon have some privacy."
Mara and Mateo hold hands as they shuffle back to the porch, exchanging glances before disappearing inside the house. The girls follow with my mother in tow, ushering them on with promises of sweets.
"Are they getting married?" Isla asks, her six-year-old voice carrying clearly in the cold air.
"Probably," Mom mutters, but there's affection in her tone. "Eventually."
As footsteps crunch away through the snow, Dad pauses beside us. I feel his large hand settle briefly on Gideon's shoulder, a gentle clap that speaks volumes.
"Welcome to the family, son," he says gruffly. Then he adds with typical Ernesto directness, "Don't screw it up this time."
"Yes, sir," Gideon manages with the kind of smile that could break me all over again.
When the last of the family disappears into the warm glow of the house, I look at him again. His face is flushed from heat and emotion, snowflakes on the hairless dome of his golem head like tiny stars before melting away.
"So," I say, trying for lightness despite the tears still streaming down my cheeks, "I think we just got the Reyes stamp of approval."
He laughs, the sound rough and wonderful. "Your father didn’t even threaten to kill me once. I'm taking that as a good sign."
"Definitely a good sign," I agree, then grow serious again. "I need to tell you something else."
His body tenses slightly, but he nods for me to continue.
"I love being here, in Saltford Bay," I say, watching his face carefully. "It reminds me of who I was, when becoming a writer was all I dreamed about."
His eyes search my face, hope and wonder warring in his expression.
"Are you saying what I think you’re saying?"
"I'm saying I don't want to go back to New York," I say, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I mean, I'll have to go back to pack up my apartment and finish some business, but I don't want to live there anymore. I want to live here. With you. If you'll have me."
The smile that spreads across his face is like sunrise breaking over the ocean, brilliant and transformative.
"If I'll have you?" he repeats, incredulous. "Lucia, I've been yours since we were seven years old. I'll be yours until the day I die and probably long after that."
The certainty in his voice, the absolute conviction, makes my heart flutter like a caged bird finally set free.
"We can go inside soon," I tell him, glancing toward the house where warm light spills from every window and the promise of family warmth waits. "But I'm not done with you yet."
His eyes darken with understanding and desire.
"Good," he growls, standing and pulling me with him. "Because I'm never letting you out of my sight again."
I laugh, dizzy with happiness and relief and the intoxicating heat that radiates from his body. "That could get awkward at book signings."
"Your readers will learn to live with it," he says solemnly, then ruins the effect by grinning. "Besides, I hear romance authors need research assistants. Maybe we can work on new material together."
"Is that what we're calling it?" I tease, then lean in to kiss him again.
This time when our mouths meet, it's not desperate or frantic. It's a promise. A beginning. The first kiss of the rest of our lives.
When we finally break apart, both breathing hard, he takes my hand in his massive one. Our fingers intertwine perfectly, like they were designed to fit together.
