Page 108 of Fixing to Be Mine

“I understand,” I say, watching her. “And what happens afterward? Will you return here with me?”

“Only if that’s what you want,” she says.

“What do you want, darlin’?”

“This,” she stresses. “You. Us. A half-finished house and a dog that needs adopting.”

I hold her tight, laughter and happiness spilling out of me. I press kisses wherever I can. “You’re choosing me?”

“You chose me first,” she says, smiling, happy, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I don’t want this to end. I don’t care about anything else.”

We lie there like that for a while, and it feels like a decision is being made in the silence.

Eventually, I glance toward the clock and slide my hand across her lower back.

“What time will we leave?”

“Around eight in the morning on Saturday,” she says against my chest, kissing my tattoo. “I’d say now, but I’m looking forward to dinner with Remi and Cash tomorrow night. And I have a lot of mental preparation to do.”

I grin into her hair. “I’m here with you.”

She laughs. “Should I tell them we’re leaving?”

I shake my head. “Only if you want to answer five million questions. You can explain when we return, if you’re comfortable.”

“Okay.” She’s silent for a beat. “I’m glad I found you.”

Her voice is certain, like she’s not just saying it; she believes it.

My chest tightens. I pull her closer. “Fuck, me too, darlin’.”

She exhales against my skin, and I can feel her settle, like something inside her has changed.

We lie there like that with our limbs tangled and hearts steady until the room fades to night. And in the stillness, I realize that she’s not just choosing me. She’s choosingus—this life, this future, this messy, half-built dream we’re still putting together. And I’ll follow her anywhere.

She’s worth crossing the country for, especially if she’s coming home with me afterward.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

STORMY

When I realize Colt remodeled this place himself, I’m honestly stunned. It’s gorgeous with its white picket fence, perfectly hung shutters, and manicured lawn.

A porch swing creaks gently in the breeze, wind chimes clink somewhere to the left, and that familiar smell of mesquite on a flame drifts from the backyard.

Remi opens the door before we knock. She grins and pulls me in without a word, hugging me like she’s known me for years instead of weeks.

“Wow, you both have that love look on your faces,” she announces. “Come in. Cash is in the back, barbequing.”

As soon as his name is said, he appears behind her, barefoot and relaxed. He pops two beers from the fridge and hands them to us.

“Y’all want cheese on your burgers?”

“Always,” I say.

“Right answer,” Cash says. “Anyone who doesn’t eat cheese on their burgers is?—”

“A monster,” Colt tells him.

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