Page 58 of Cold as (N)ice

Emotion surged up, thick and undeniable. She turned her head slightly, just enough to meet his gaze over her shoulder.

“I am,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “And you’re mine.”

“Always,” he vowed, his tone rough with feeling. “I’m always going to be yours, even when you want to get mad, feel frustrated, or whatever—I’m yours. I believe in marriage, in partners, in whatever this is, because I never want you to feel like you felt before with your ex-husband.” He paused, his fingers flexing slightly around the cloth before he dipped it into the water again, smoothing it across her shoulder blade. “You are my home, my wife, my heart, and… and I need to see this soft, content, happy side of you because it fills something precious within me, Irene.”

The confession hung in the air between them, heavy and raw, settling deep within her. She turned her head, her eyes finding his—so earnest, so full of something she hadn’t dared to hope for in so long. He wasn’t just speaking words. He wasgivingthem to her, a piece of himself she hadn’t even realized she needed.

Neither of them spoke. He simply continued washing her shoulders, his touch gentle, reverent, as if she were something to be treasured.

Then, his voice—hoarse, almost breaking.

“You are the only woman I would ever crawl to.”

The words sent something sharp and aching through her chest, and then his lips—warm, soft, real—pressed against her damp shoulder in a whisper of devotion.

“I love you, Irene.”

The depth of it nearly shattered her.

“I love you,” she breathed, her voice trembling, her chest so tight with emotion she could barely get the words out. “And you never have to crawl.”

Silence stretched between them, the weight of the moment so tangible it was almost suffocating.

And then, her lips curved.

“Now, are you getting in the tub—or am I getting out?”

“Irene…”

“Don’t, Barrett.”

His hesitation was almost endearing. “You don’t have to do anything?—”

“That’s not what I asked you,” she chuckled, watching as his expression shifted—surprise, then something softer, something like relief. And then, finally, he smiled.

Without another word, he leaned back, tugging his shirt over his head, pausing just long enough for her to drink in the sight of him before tossing it aside.

“You think there’s enough room?” he asked, his voice rich with amusement.

“Only one way to find out,Dumpster fire,” she teased, grinning as he rolled his eyes. “…But on one condition.”

His brow lifted. “What’s that?”

“I’m putting enough shampoo in both of our hair to make us both look like Troll dolls,” she threatened, her heart so light, so ridiculously full, she barely recognized herself.

Barrett whooped in delight, springing to his feet. In an instant, his sneakers went flying—one landing in the toilet with an unfortunate splosh, the other bouncing loudly off the cabinet.

And then—chaos.

With zero hesitation, he dove into the tub, still clad in his jeans, sending water splashingeverywhere—over the sides, onto the floor, probably halfway down the hall. She squealed as warm suds sloshed against her, but before she could scold him, his arms were around her, his laughter against her cheek, his hands on her waist,his heart in his kiss.

“My shoe just died a watery death, wife…” he murmured, nuzzling his nose against hers.

“So it did, husband,” she chuckled, breathless andalivein a way she hadn’t felt in years. And maybe… maybe this was what love was supposed to feel like.

Messy.

Joyful.

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