Page 179 of The Fine Line
He kisses my neck, arms wrapping around my waist—until he notices where I’m standing.
“Why do you have this out?” I ask.
“Oh.” He hesitates, raking a hand through his hair. “I… actually wanted you to have it.”
“What?” I blink. “Why?”
“Call it a gift.”
“On your birthday?”
He shrugs. “I know you liked it.”
“I do. It’s beautiful. But I thought it was something special to you.”
He doesn’t answer. Just scoops me up and carries me to the bed, laying us down side by side.
“You want to know the truth?” he murmurs, his thumb brushing the corner of my mouth.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“There’s nothing I’ve ever had that was even remotely as special to me as you are.”
My breath catches.
I reach for his hand, and he takes it, interlacing our fingers. He brings mine to his lips and kisses my knuckle—soft, careful. Then his gaze falls to the rings on our fingers, and his brows slowly pulltogether.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Cub, I just…” He shakes his head. “I’ve gotten lucky a lot in life. And I’ve screwed up time and time again. I thought for a long time my luck had to have run out. That karma was coming for me, and I’d just wait for the inevitable. But somehow, here I am. With you. The luckiest goddamn idiot in the world. I just…don’t understand it. Don’t know what I did to deserve you.”
I pull him to me, pressing my lips against his.
“You don’t need to understand everything.”
He exhales a shaky breath, like he’s been holding it for years.
“Cub, I think I lo?—”
I press my hand to his mouth before he can finish. I don’t need him to say it.
Because I know. I feel it too—sharp and quiet and terrifying, pulsing like a second heartbeat under my skin. But still, I’m not ready.
“No,” I whisper. “Not yet. Please.”
He stares at me with a question in his eyes that he doesn’t ask. And I’m grateful. Because I don’t have an answer.
I don’t know why this last part of me won’t let go. Why, even with everything I feel, some instinct still pulls me back. Maybe it’s the years I spent not believing him—thinking he was just another charmer who wanted the chase. Maybe it’s the way I’ve trained myself to stay composed, to lead with control instead of vulnerability. Whatever it is, it’s still here. Holding me back. Holding me together.
“Okay,” Rhett says softly, pulling my hand from his lips and pressing it to his chest. Right over his heart.
The silence stretches. Not heavy. Not awkward. Just… quiet. Real.
“I just need a little more time to process it,” I say. “To believe this is real.”
Not because I don’t believehim.But because the part of methat always prepared for disappointment hasn’t stopped bracing.
He lies back, one arm tucked behind his head, the other still holding my hand. I shift closer, curling into his side. His fingers trace slow, steady lines along my spine, each one softening the wall I’ve built.
