Page 71 of Sparks Still Fly

“Mmm?” He runs a hand through my hair, and it’s damp, and right now, I’m not sure if it’s from my shower earlier or from all of the sex.

“I really need the loo. And a shower.” He chuckles and kisses the top of my head again.

“All right Maevey. Meet you in there.”

I’m about to shower with Owen. With my husband. Who I basically just committed to staying married to while he rammed himself into me. And I loved it so much I came…again! This might be the best day of my life.

I extricate myself from his bed and walk awkwardly to the bathroom with my thighs sticking together.

I take in Owen’s bathroom for the first time. There are two separate vanities, a gigantic soaker tub I vow to slip my way into one day, and a shower big enough for the two of us and…activities. The toilet is in its own room, which I love, and as I flush, I hear the water running in the shower.

A very naked, very beautiful Owen James is standing before me, gathering clean towels to hang on the towel warmer as steam fills the room.

Yep. Best day of my life.

He opens the shower door and steps inside, leaving it open as he looks up at me. “Coming?”

Dear God, I’m not sure I can, but I wouldn’t hate it if I did.

As if he can read my mind, he chuckles and extends his hand toward me. “I meant into the shower, sunshine. Come here.” I feel my face heat as I step closer to him. He takes my hand and pulls me in, letting me have the stream of perfectly hot water. I gladly stand under it, letting the water run down my back, sighing as my muscles relax. When I look up, I’m met with a pair of hungry green eyes. Owen is standing under the other shower head, which I know for a fact isn’t running as hot as this one. My gaze roams over his body, really taking all of him in for the first time in proper lighting.

My eyes snag on the tattoos across his chest, and I reach out a hand to touch the moon at the center of it. On his left pec is a woman riding a horse. She has a crescent moon above her head and a veil blowing in the wind. Behind them are ocean waves that look like they’re almost reaching for her. As the waves fade over his shoulder, origami swans swim along calm waters, and a lump forms in my throat at the memory of the day we met, the tiny origami swans on the table, the one he played with that day.

The water morphs into lines that wrap around his upper arm. The tattoos that travel down his right arm are all ones I’ve seen before. The eagle with semper fidelis on ribbons. He’s always had that one. It’s a Marine Corp motto, meaning always faithful. On the inside of his bicep, is his dad’s favorite Irish saying, which Bon also has a tattoo of.

“What’s with the horse lady and the moon?” He sighs, looking down at me. He places his hand over mine, over his heart.

“Selene is the goddess of the moon in Greek mythology. She’s the personification of the moon itself. Fengári.” My breath hitches in my throat, and I force down a swallow.

“Fengári mou. That’s what you call me. Your moon.” He smiles, and his heart rate speeds up beneath my hand. “I, uh, looked it up once.”

“My moon. That’s what you’ve always been, Maeve. My moon. The one whose gravitational pull I can't stay away from. I’m always drawn to you. To where you are.” His hand drops and he brushes some hair off my forehead with his index finger, letting his hand linger there.

“Like the ocean tides?” He nods, and his smile widens.

“Yeah, Maevey. Just like the tides.” I’m thankful for the droplets of water running down my face. Hopefully, he can’t tell there are tears mixed in, too. But of course, he swipes a thumb across my cheek as his brows furrow.

“And the swans?” I ask.

He swallows, keeping his hand on my face. “I took one with me the day we met. I used to take it with me everywhere, take it out when I needed to feel you close to me, which was…a lot. Eventually, the thing just sort of disintegrated.” He sighs, like the memory of losing a piece of scrap paper is painful to him.

“How long?” I ask, knowing he’ll understand I need to know when he got these tattoos for me.

“Started about eight years ago. I got the swans once the paper one you made fell apart.” He cradles my face in his hands, still smiling down at me like he didn’t just tell me he marked his body with tattoos explicitly meant to be of me—for me—on his chest. As if he didn’t mark his body with something to remember the day we met, just like I did. Tattoos he got before we had even slept together for the first time.

“Oh,” is all I manage to croak out. Owen pulls me into him, and my head rests next to where my hand still covers his heart as he holds me close.

“You’ve always been my end-game, Maeve. I’ve known that for a long time.” I nod and let it sink in. These aren’t just words he’s saying. He means it. As I let everything he’s said implant, I know I need to keep chasing this happiness. I know I have to move on from the hurt of the past and be here. Be present. Because maybe this isn’t just for now. Maybe this really could be forever.

40/

ours.

owen

She said she’s mine. She said forever. But my brain won’t let go of the fact that maybe it was just a product of the moment. She hasn’t said she loves me, and I won’t push her into it. But fuck, if I’m not dying to hear her say the words. To say them to her myself.

I’m just finishing up dinner while she dries her hair. She didn’t want to go to sleep with wet hair. And even though my body feels suddenly empty without hers next to me, I got the feeling that she needed a little space. Maybe I did too? We’re not used to being around one another yet. I’m not used to being around anyone these days.

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