Page 132 of Fixing to Be Mine

I stand in the stillness she left behind and glance around.

I’ve been in this space for two days now, and the weight of who she is finally settles around me.

The penthouse is too curated. The furniture is expensive leather. The art on the walls is original and bold. A grand piano sits in the corner of the room, untouched but cared for. On the marble counter is a stack of unopened mail, a few envelopes embossed with logos I recognize from magazine covers and corporate towers.

Stormy isn’t successful or connected. She’s known. Her name doesn’t echo through rooms like mine does in Valentine; it shapes them before she steps through the door. Stormy left behind a family name, a corporate legacy, headlines, and expectations.

Somehow, she found me in the chaos. If that’s not meant to be, I’m not sure what is.

I stay by the window, my hand resting lightly on the glass, staring out at the city spread beneath us. It’s so different than what I’m used to.

I move to the mantel where there are photos of her and her friends. My eyes scan over them, and that’s when I see a face I never expected—someone from home. I pick up the frame, still half convinced I’m imagining things. But there’s no mistaking her—Lexi Matthews. Well, now it’s Calloway, after she married the love of her life, Easton. In the photo, her arm is slung around Stormy’s shoulders, like they’ve known each other a long time. And maybe they have.

The world always seems so damn big. But right now, it feels small enough to fit in the palm of my hand.

Behind me, I hear her footsteps. She comes up quietly, still towel-drying her hair, barefoot in a fresh pair of leggings and one of my T-shirts.

I smile at her. “You know Lexi?”

Stormy steps beside me, a small grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Yeah. She’s married to Easton—one of my close friends. She’s the one who told me about Valentine. Said it wasthe perfect place to get lost. Peaceful. Kind. Beautiful in the ways that mattered. I’d never have known about the town if it wasn’t for Lexi.”

I glance back at the photo and am so damn grateful. “Guess I owe her a thank-you.”

“I do too.” She pulls back slightly.

A question sits heavy in my chest. It’s not new, but it’s grown louder with every minute I’ve spent in this city, surrounded by proof of her past life.

I could keep it to myself. I could let the moment pass. But I don’t want to move forward with even a shadow of a doubt between us.

“Do you believe I’m the man who can make you happy?” I ask.

Her expression doesn’t shift. She holds my gaze like she’s been waiting for the question.

“Absolutely,” she says.

I study her face, every curve and line of it, every bit of strength and softness. “I don’t think it’s a weird question, but why?”

She doesn’t hesitate. “Because you see me. Not the brand, not the version of me that fits in a press release. Just me.”

I feel something in my chest pull tight, and I smile. “I do.”

“Now that you know everything … does it change anything for you?”

I shake my head once. “Not even a little. I don’t care what the rest of the world sees when they look at you. I know the real you. The woman I fell in love with the moment our eyes met.”

A tear slips down her cheek.

“I’m so lucky to have met you,” I tell her.

She reaches for my hand, her fingers threading between mine. “I’m so lucky to get to love you.”

The city hums quietly behind the glass, but neither of us gives it attention. We’ve seen enough today. Said enough. And yet I can feel there’s still one more truth she’s holding.

She lets go of my hand, only long enough to turn and sit on the edge of the couch. Her elbows rest on her knees, her eyes fixed on the floor for a second, then up at me.

“I want to go home,” she says. Her voice is soft, but there’s no uncertainty in it.

Hearing her call our place home does something to me.

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