Page 116 of Until the Storm Breaks
He kisses me with a tenderness that makes my chest ache, then with a passion that makes me forget we’re in public, forget everything except the feel of his mouth on mine, his body pressed against me. My whole body feels electric, alive, like I’ve been sleeping and have suddenly woken up. I can feel his heart racing against mine, can feel how much he needs this, needs me, needsus. It makes me dizzy with want and relief and love so big it feels like it might crack me open.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together. I’m vaguely aware that people around us exist, that we’ve probably caused a scene, but I don’t care. All I can see is Calvin, looking at me like I’m his whole world.
“You ran here,” I say, touching his rain-soaked shirt, still trying to catch my breath.
“Eight blocks through the downpour,” he says. “Nearly got hit by a taxi.”
“All that for me?” The question comes out soft.
He frames my face with his hands, looking at me with such certainty it makes my heart stutter. “I’d run a thousand blocks for you, Maren.”
Then he kisses me, so soft and tender and full of love that my knees actually weaken. This kiss is different from the desperate one before. This is a promise, a vow, a coming home. My throat goes tight with emotion.
“Take me home,” I whisper against his lips.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, and the smile that spreads across his face is pure joy. “Home,” he repeats, like it’s precious. “Yes. Let’s go home.”
I can’t help but smile back, probably looking ridiculous withtears on my cheeks, but I don’t care. We’re both grinning like idiots, standing in the middle of a crowded book festival, him soaked from the rain and me completely in love.
Because home isn’t a place anymore. It’s not Dark River or Seattle, not the cabins or his apartment. Home is wherever we’re brave enough to stop running and start staying. Home is choosing love over fear, even when the storm is raging.
Home is us.
EPILOGUE
ONE YEAR LATER
CALVIN
The morning light hits the water just right, turning the bluff silver and gold. I sit on the porch of what used to be my mother’s house, now ours, watching Laila race around the yard with her favorite rope toy, doing victory laps every time she successfully “kills” it by shaking it violently.
“She’s got so much energy,” Maren says from beside me, her feet tucked under her on the porch swing I installed last month.
“Remember when we thought she’d calm down after the first year?” I laugh, watching Laila pounce on the rope again.
Maren laughs too, that bright sound that still makes my chest tight with how much I love her. She’s wearing one of my old sweaters and holding her coffee mug.
“I still can’t believe tonight is real,” she says softly, running her finger over the cover of the book beside her.
The book of poetry has her name on the cover.Storms and Surviving: Poems. A collection about resilient women, inspired by all the incredible women in her life. Susan. Eleanor with her romance novels and fierce spirit. Lark. The regulars at the bar who trust her with their stories. She’s the best writer I’ve ever read, and I’ve read everyone.
“Nervous about the party?” I ask.
“Terrified,” she admits, leaning into me. “What if no one shows up?”
“The entire town is coming,” I assure her. “Lark’s been talking about it for weeks. People keep asking me what time they should arrive and if you’re signing copies.”
We bought the property last year after I sold my Seattle apartment. That sale, plus a loan, gave us just enough. The house needed months of work, but we’ve brought it almost back to its former glory. New paint, repaired floors, the kitchen Susan would have loved. Every weekend we fixed something else, our hands creating a home together.
“Did Dominic mind you rescheduling the boxing class?” Maren asks suddenly.
“Not at all,” I say, pulling her closer. “He was actually excited about the party. He actually asked me for a copy the other day. Said he’s going to read it.”
“Really?”
“He’s happy for you, even if he’ll never say it quite right.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “That’s so Dominic.”
