Page 119 of Fixing to Be Mine

My breath catches. My pulse skips. He just said it—out loud, without fear, without condition.

I try to remember how to breathe.

“You don’t have to say it back. I know it’s a lot, but I can’t go another minute without telling you. I knew I’d love you the moment you said my name. And you deserve to know that.”

“I love you too,” I whisper.

He gently moves back to me, sliding his mouth across mine. I kiss him back, tasting myself on his tongue. We breathe each other in and out, and when he pulls back, he brings a thumb up and wipes the tear from my cheek.

“You’re crying,” he says.

I sit up, feeling the wetness on my cheeks, knowing I haven’t cried in over a decade. Not over Donovan or my sister. “I’m so happy.”

“You deserve to be,” he says, voice like velvet.

“You do too.”

His breath is ragged, his hair an absolute disaster, and he’s stunning in that wild, ruined way I can’t look away from.

He studies me. “I’m gonna marry you one day.”

“I hope you do, cowboy,” I say, but I already know I’m his, body and soul.

Every storm led me right here. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

COLT

The city rises around us like it’s made of steel and glass and unfinished business. I’ve seen pictures of New York and watched plenty of movies featuring it, but nothing has prepared me for how small I feel, being here.

Stormy sits beside me in the back seat of the SUV that picked us up at the private airport. Her expression is calm but focused, and she hasn’t said much since we landed. I haven’t pushed her to speak either. My girl has a lot on her mind, and she’ll talk when she’s ready.

The SUV slows in front of a high-rise with a private entrance and a doorman who probably makes more in a week than I did working on my parents’ ranch for a month.

Stormy grabs my hand and turns to me when the vehicle stops.

“Are they here for you?” I ask, not completely understanding the gravity of this situation.

“Yes. Ignore them. Ignore what they say. Keep your eyes forward, okay?”

I give her a nod, and she squeezes my hand. Seconds later, Stormy’s door opens. The moment her heels hit the curb, hername is shouted from different directions. The flashes nearly blind me.

“Stormy! Is it true you called off the wedding at the altar?”

“Stormy, who’s the new guy? Is this your replacement for Donovan?”

“Are the rumors about your mental breakdown true?”

She keeps moving forward, and I stay beside her as she pretends this is the most natural thing in the world.

It’s intense, and I don’t know how anyone lives their everyday life this way.

One guy steps too close for comfort, and I slam my shoulder into him. “Back the fuck up, bud.”

My voice isn’t loud, but it doesn’t need to be. Based on my expression, he knows I’m not asking. I don’t care what kind of photo they’re trying to get of her or us. He lifts his camera to angle past me, and I shift my body to block him. Stormy reaches for my hand, and I take it without question. Her small frame dragging me at six-two must be a scene.

“Stormy! Give us something!”

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