Putting the phone down, she relayed the message to Will. He nodded, peeled off his gloves, and reached for her. “So…” he said. One of his hands slid beneath the coat she still hadn’t taken off, settling at her hip with a possessiveness she shouldn’t enjoy so much. His other hand rose to her hair, tugging gently at a coil behind her ear. “Are we going to say anything?”
And Abbie learned another thing she hadn’t known about herself: she liked being with a man who asked instead of told. She liked it a whole fucking lot.
* * *
Were they going to tell her family, that was what Will meant. He was only asking for clarity, though, not because he needed to share. Will didn’t need anything right now except what he had: Abbie, looking at him with all the secret affection her dark eyes could convey, loving him silently in a way that was so fucking loud, it reverberated through his bones.
He was on cloud nine, and he expected to stay there for the rest of his life. So, yeah, he didn’t need a damn thing. But after years of this hollow, hungry yearning, and a couple days of fucking things up by holding back, he’d decided that straightforward communication was his very best shot at keeping hold of this miracle.
And he would keep hold of this. Of her. Gently, yes, as gently as she needed, but he wasn’t ever letting go.
She rolled her lips inward, looking adorably awkward at the prospect of talking about their feelings yet again—and to people other than each other. But he was impressed, because instead of blurting out God, no, with all the horror she obviously felt, Abbie took a breath and managed a smile. “I could be wrong, but I think Grandma’s kind of been shipping us. She really shoved us together these last two days.”
Well, shit. That was … that was true, wasn’t it? Will grinned. “Always knew she was a woman of taste.”
“And Jase basically thinks we should get married.”
Will grinned wider. “He is my best friend for a reason.”
He could see Abbie’s apprehension at that—she probably hadn’t expected him to respond so enthusiastically, or so seriously. He released her hair and stroked her face, his fingertips gliding over her brow, her temple, along the line of her jaw. Everywhere he touched, tension seemed to ease out of her. “I’m just asking, Abbie,” he said softly. “I’m asking what you want to do because I care about the answer. I care about what you want.” It had occurred to him recently, that he should tell her things like that—should say what seemed so obvious to him out loud. Because it wasn’t obvious to Abigail, and if he didn’t show her his heart, how the fuck was she supposed to learn it? He wasn’t leaving her in the dark anymore, to stumble around with nothing but her hopes and her fears.
Not ever.
She gave a tentative smile, and his heart squeezed at the sight. “Okay. Well … I think they’d be pleased, but I also think that talking about … about our feelings for each other was a lot, and we don’t exactly know what this is going to look like, or at least I don’t, and—”
“One year,” he said softly.
She blinked. “Hm?”
“That’s how long I was going to wait,” he reminded her, “before I asked you out. One year of being with you however you wanted before I ever brought up my feelings. I might’ve failed on the feelings part, but we can still wait a year, if you want.”
Her lips parted for a breathless moment, and she leaned into him, just a tiny bit. Just enough for him to feel the warmth of her fledging trust, chasing away the blizzard’s chill. “You’re rather dedicated,” she said dryly, but she looked at him with so much soul-deep affection he almost passed out. Really, he felt a little light-headed. The fucking eyes on this woman.
“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “Dedicated. That I am.”
“And perfect,” she added quietly, fondly. “You’re rather incredibly perfect.”
“You told me you have things you need to work out,” he said, fighting the loopiest fucking grin of all time because this was supposed to be a serious adult conversation about boundaries or whatever the fuck. “So do what you gotta do, Abs, and in the meantime, I’ll still be here, and we’ll still be us. Okay?” You’re safe with me. You’re trying for me. And you will never fucking regret it.
She looked up at him as if she couldn’t see anything else. “Okay, Will,” she said. And then she kissed him so hard he felt weak.
Epilogue
@AbbieGrl: Have you seen this?
@DoURe1dMe: Uh … is that supposed to be me?
@AbbieGrl: It’s Captain X getting pegged by Captain Marvel
@DoURe1dMe: INTERESTING … how do you feel about wearing spandex?
one year later
Abbie woke to the click of the bedroom door closing. The space beside her was warm but empty. Will had just left. Cracking open one eye, she fumbled for her phone, knocking her anxiety meds off the bedside table in the process. According to her display, it was 7:38 and she had a text from Chitra.
Merry Christmas, Aunty!
Attached was a picture of baby Jaya dressed as a tiny Santa. Abbie smiled, and fell back to sleep before she could reply.
When she woke again, it was slower, sweeter, easier the second time around. Winter sun spilled through the curtains to bathe her face. The mattress beneath her shifted as Will slipped back into bed.
“Abbie-girl,” he murmured. “I’m cold.”
Such a bad liar. Will must’ve just gotten back from his run, which he insisted on every day—yes, even Christmas Day—not because he was a gym owner who had to maintain a certain level of fitness, but because, for reasons she would never understand, he really fucking enjoyed it. So maybe he had been cold for a minute, out there in the frost. But after a couple miles and a hot shower, he must be warm again.
And yet, when his big hand smoothed over her side, she shivered.
“I know you’re awake.” She could hear the grin in his voice. Could feel it against her skin, his body curving around her as he kissed the back of her neck.
“Yes,” she admitted, “I’m awake.” Then she rolled over because neck kisses were wonderful, but mouth to mouth was better.
He was beautiful, as always. Golden and glowing and looking at her with a love so intense she could practically feel it—warming her as surely as the blankets around them, holding her tight like this bed held off the early-morning chill. Wrapped up in this man was her favourite place to be. And these days, she was confident—even in her wobbly moments—that he felt the same.
“I love you,” she murmured, and trailed her fingers down, down, down, over the planes of his beloved body.