“Francesca.” I growl softly against her neck and nip it.
“Okay. It was when you were doing shirtless push-ups.”
Pressing her into the sofa and sliding down the blanket, I settle between her legs. “Gumdrop, you’re taunting me.”
“Doodlebug.” Frankie slides her arms down my back. “I’m going to be real honest and confess the first thing I liked about you was your butt, but only because you’d passed me while my head was down, walking into the meeting room, so I only caught the back half of you.” She gives the backside in question an affectionate squeeze.
“But then I walked in, and saw this copper hair, those wintry eyes.” She sighs. “And I thought, ‘Well, damn. He’s off-limits, Frankie. So fuhgeddaboudit.’
“Don’t notice the way he listens attentively. Don’t fall for how gentle he is, how hard he works. Don’t feel yourself falling deeper when you see him demonstrate that strength lies not in an assertion of power but in acts of service. Don’t love him when he reads children’s books and tears up or holds your friend’s baby like he was made to hold babies. Definitely don’t give him your heart when he dances with you by the shore and makes you feel like you’re light on your feet.”
She smiles up from underneath me, her hands gentling my face. “Don’t fall in love with him when he touches you. When he makes you feel from a place in your heart that you didn’t know existed. All that ridiculous naysaying, and I still never stood a chance.”
Her hand rests over my heart as I hold her eyes. “Francesca?”
“Yes, Søren.”
“I love you. Always.”
“Always,” she whispers and seals it with a kiss.
THE END