Michaela
Mo cleared his throatand dragged me against him. “Do you remember anything else?”
“No.” I pressed my hand to his heart. “And I think the limo ride was always there on the edge of my mind. The rest of the night is just snapshots. I’m not sure if I’ll ever get it all back.”
I tipped my head back, leaving my burrow under his chin to meet his eyes.
“I think it doesn’t really matter how we got here. What matters is we both want to be here.”
He hummed, but I wasn’t sure if it was in agreement. And I got it. It had to be torturous to be the one who remembered. In most ways, I was glad to be the one who’d forgotten. I didn’t think I’d trade places with Mo given the chance. I certainly remembered every moment of my courtship and marriage to Devon, and that had made zero difference.
“You still want to be here after the shit I’ve been pulling?”
I sighed. “Yeah, I do. That should tell you something about how I feel about you.”
He stared at me, unblinking, for a long time, like he was looking for something. Then he nodded. “I have to keep writing you songs. You get all sweet after.”
I laughed. “I’m always sweet.”
He shook his head, stroked the hair around my face. “You aren’t, and we both know it. But I’ve always known it, and it seems I can’t stop myself from wanting to keep you forever anyway.”
Smiling with my eyes closed, I leaned into his hand. “That’d be nice, to have a place to be forever. A home with you. I’ve never had that.”
His movement stilled. “You have all that family who adores you. I don’t get that.”
I laid my hand on his rough cheek. “I do have family who adores me, and I adore them equally. But I grew up in three houses, with three different bedrooms. My parents’ love lives often took priority over making sure Ansel and I felt secure. I’ve never felt settled. Not once in my life have I had something that was truly my own. And I know it sounds like ‘poor little rich girl with her three houses,’ but imagine having three bedrooms, none of which ever felt like mine. Then I married Dev way too young, traveled everywhere with him.”
His thumb pushed on my bottom lip. “Then you traveled everywhere on your own.”
“Right.” I nipped his thumb, then smiled around it, before kissing it and letting it go. “Some people thrive on the vagabond life, but I don’t think I was built for it. I have longed for a home base, a place I can actually be homesick for. I got close with my cottage, but I never got over feeling like I was a visitor. Maybe it’s my fault. Maybe I don’t know how to be at home. But I want to, with you.”
“You’ve got it, Mic. You, me, and her—we’re home.” His hand slid between us to cup my belly. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a feeling of home either. I’ve been on edge since I was a kid, waiting for my parents to finally fall apart. Maybe hoping they would. I want to settle in too, ’cause I never have.”
I had to blink away tears. We were two very different people, but we understood each other, and that was rare. It was something to be handled carefully and nurtured.
“That sounds like bliss.” My voice was thick, and my heart was relieved. I wanted so badly for this place—not this apartment, but this relationship, this budding bond between Mo and I—to be the home I longed for.
He kissed my forehead, a shuddering breath leaving him. “Yeah, it does.”
It took me a week to formulate a plan and put it into action, but with a little bit of help—okay, a lot—from Rosa and Ansel, I’d found my way.
Mac waited for me in the lobby of our building, looking like a movie version of a Secret Service agent, all dark shades and crisp suit.
He nodded. “Ms. Ashwood.”
I nodded back. “Craig.”
“Where are we headed this morning?”
“Can’t we just walk?”
“No.”
I pushed my bottom lip out, enjoying how rigid and serious he was. “Don’t you trust me?”
“No.”
“Fine.” I gave him the address of our destination, which he spent a minute checking out on his phone. While I waited, I took my own phone from my pocket, and my good mood vanished the moment I saw a text from Devon.