Page 120 of Against The Rules

Things might not have gone the way we wanted this weekend, but life could be a hell of a lot worse.

When I fling the front door open, the scent of cooking food hits me right away, the sound of Savannah’s light laugh and Jacob’s deep rumbling voice carrying over to the front door.

I drop my bags and jog to the kitchen, then stop short, drinking in the sight.

Jacob grins at me, but I only have eyes for Savannah, who wrings her hands in front of her.

“I’ll be going now,” Jacob announces, clapping me on the shoulder as he walks by. “Be good,” he tells me.

I ignore him.

There are balloons everywhere, Beaver navy and gold, along with matching streamers.

“Is it my birthday?” I ask, only half-joking. “You’re cooking for me?” Something smells incredible in the oven, but to my surprise, Savannah winces.

“I cheated on that a little. I had Zoltan make the food. I’m just reheating it here. Sorry?”

“Why in the world are you apologizing?”

Then, I see it. Behind her, stretched across the windows above the sink, a handwritten sign, on a poster board like a school project in sparkling gold reads:

I love you, Tyler.

“Peaches.” Emotion wells in me, and I pull her into a tight hug, breathing in her floral-scented hair and trying to memorize the way her body feels against mine. “I love you so much.”

“I know,” she mutters, the words muffled against my chest. “I thought it was time I told you how I felt, too.”

I pull away, only so I can look at her beautiful face when she says it.

“Say it again.” I grin at her, my chest so full it aches.

“I love you, Tyler—”

I lean down and kiss her, cutting off whatever else she was about to say. She tastes like white wine and peaches, and she’s heaven in my arms.

I raise an eyebrow, breaking off the kiss, and she stares up at me, breathless.

I like her like that.

“Why do you actually taste like peaches?”

“Because Zoltan made that peach cobbler I told you about, and I snagged a few bites before I put it in the oven.”

Relief washes over me, because hearing that she’s eating is the second best thing I’ve heard all day.

“What’s that look for?” Her fingers tickle across my lower back, a small smile on her lips.

“I’m relieved, Savannah.” I put my forehead next to hers. “I’ve been worried about you.”

“You don’t need to worry about me.”

“You’re my wife,” I tell her. “I love you. I’m going to worry about you. That’s how this works.”

“I don’t want you to worry.”

“Good. It would be weird if you wanted me to,” I tease her.

Out of nowhere, she grabs my butt with both hands and I yelp, rising onto my toes in surprise.

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