Page 146 of Mended Hearts

And then Leighton bulldozed into my life, and proved me wrong.

Nothing about this woman embodied these tiny creatures, and yet I saw them in the light she created everywhere she went.

She was bold in her love. In her joy. In her sense of adventure. She made the world more beautiful just by being in it.

“Worth it?” I whispered.

Yeah, I meant the trip. But beyond that, I meant the detour—hell, all of it. The hard conversations we hadn’t finished. The tangle of emotions I still had no fucking clue how to voice.

When she turned in my arms and looked up at me, it was like she could see it all written across my face. Like she thought I’d carved this place for her with my bare hands.

I would’ve, if I could.

“Absolutely,” she whispered.

Forgiveness. That’s what that word tasted like. Like I hadn’t imagined the bliss of the last few weeks. Like she was in this—for real—as much as I was.

“Leigh,” I breathed, voice thick, raw. “You’re perfect.”

She huffed a soft laugh, her lips twitching with the beginnings of a smile, but she didn’t argue—just dropped her gaze to her feet. More butterflies floated lazily around us, flitting from blossoms to shrubs like they hadn’t a care in the world.

“Far from it,” she murmured after a beat, swallowing audibly.

“We’ll just have to agree to disagree.”

She shot me that look—dry and sweet all at once, a sarcastic challenge wrapped in affection. “Well, aren’t you generous.”

“Maybe,” I said with a small smile, lifting her camera and giving the printed photo a gentle shake—old habit, I guessed. “But I think you’re exactly what we needed.”

Her brows pinched, just slightly. “We?”

“Me and the kids,” I said quietly, barely above a whisper. “You mended our hearts without even trying. Just... by being you, Trouble. I don’t think you realize it, but you’re the first thing to make me feel whole in years. Maybeever.”

The truth snagged in my throat. I didn’t talk about my parents. Or the way Greyson hadalwaysstood between me and the worst of it. Or the fact that it still haunted me how little warmth had existed in the elaborately decorated shell of a house we grew up in.

But she didn’t need the words. She didn’t need me to voice the fears telling me I was doomed to repeat it.

She just stepped closer, laid her hand gently over my heart, and offered the softest smile.

“I think you did that all on your own, handsome.”

“Of course, you do.” I laughed, cradling her chin between my fingers and tilting her face up. God, I loved her mouth. Her sharp tongue. That relentless, resilient heart. I tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and just... soaked her in.

Right here. In the one place I’d ever believed in magic.

“My kids are happy. You’re glowing. I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

Luckiest damn man alive. That’s what I was.

Especially when she blinked, like she was fighting tears.

“Mom used to bring us here, you know?” I added.

“Yeah?” she asked, her smile still resting soft on her face.

“She said magic lived in the eucalyptus grove.”

It was one of the only times she ever loaded the three of us into the car on her own. She’d have the chef pack us snacks, and we’d drive six hours up the coast—stopping at every lookout and bathroom she could find. We’d blast music, pick up donuts and fries we weren’t usually allowed to have. And for a few fleeting hours, away from the cameras and our father’s shadow, she’d laugh with her whole chest.

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