He came over and wrapped his arms around me. “That’s what I want for you. Something better than a dream.”

Our mouths came together, open and hungry, our hands working to remove coats and sweaters and jeans and boots and what seemed like an endless amount of layers of winter clothing. Finally, we scrambled beneath the covers of the bed, naked and desperate to lie skin to skin, to make up for lost time, to express with our bodies what words could not.

“God, I swore to myself I was going to take my time with you,” he whispered, moving inside me hard and deep. “And now we’re here and I can’t slow down.”

“Don’t,” I begged, pulling him tighter to me, rocking my hips beneath his. “Don’t slow down. For once, I won’t say there’s no rush. There’s a rush. There’s definitely a rush.”

He laughed, pausing only to bring his lips to mine. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

And then we were lost to each other, and just like he promised, it was something better than a dream.

Afterward, we lay on our sides, facing each other, covers pulled up to our waists.

“I’m sorry I made you wait so long before getting this right,” he said, propping his head up in one hand. “I was dying to call you every day last week, but I felt like I couldn’t, not unless I had something real to offer you.”

“All I’ve ever wanted was this.” I placed one hand over his heart.

“It’s all yours.”

“Finally.”

“Now you tell that girl inside you that I chose her, and I fucking meant it.” He poked a finger playfully against my sternum.

I laughed. “She heard you.”

“Does she believe me?”

“Yes.”

He grabbed me and rolled me on top of him. “Well, just in case she needs more convincing, let her know I’ve got all night.”

“All night?” Surprised, I looked down at him. “We have all night?”

“We have all night.” He kissed me, brushing my messy hair back from my face. “Our first night in our bed in our house. That is, if you’ll agree to live here with me.”

“Can we have pancakes for dinner?”

He grinned. “All the time.”

“Yes,” I said, a shiver moving through me. “I’ll live here with you.”

He kissed me once more. “This is the real New Year’s Eve,” he whispered. “This is the real beginning.”

“Mmm,” I murmured against his lips. “Finally, I get to kiss Cole Mitchell at midnight.”

Suddenly he flipped me beneath him, pinning my wrists to the bed, staring down at me with narrowed eyes. “You weren’t really going to kiss that fucking Mavs player on New Year’s, were you?”

I rolled my eyes. “What do you think?”

His crooked grin appeared, slow and sexy. “No way.”

“So you get it now, huh?” I took his face in my hands. “It was always you, Cole.”

“I get it now.” He kissed me softly. “I get you now. And I’ll never let go.”

Thirty-Four

Epilogue

Cole

“Is that what you’re going to wear?” Mariah assessed me from my bedroom doorway, her nose wrinkled.

I studied my reflection in the mirror above my dresser. “Yeah. What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s boring. You can’t wear a boring outfit to propose to Cheyenne.”

“Shhh!” I scolded, rushing to check the hallway to make sure Cheyenne wasn’t right there.

“Don’t worry. She’s downstairs on the phone with Aunt Blair.”

“Still.” I yanked her into the room and shut the door. “Keep your voice down. And I’m not wearing this to propose. I’m going to change before dinner.” I zipped up the weekend bag I’d just packed.

“Into what?” she asked suspiciously.

“A suit. What do you want me to wear, tight shiny pants?”

She giggled. “No. You’d look terrible in tight shiny pants.”

I gave her a dirty look. “Are you and Buddy ready to go to Grandma’s?”

“Yes.” Then she sighed. “I wish I could come with you.”

“We’ve been over this, honey. We love you very much, but—”

“I know, I know.” She flipped her hand in the air. “Some things are better in private.”

“Right. Plus she’d be suspicious if you were there. I don’t want her to know what’s coming.”

Mariah pouted. “But call right afterward, okay?”

“I will.”

“And I get to help plan the wedding,” she whispered.

“Of course. You and Cheyenne can plan it all.”

“And be in it too.”

“Other than the bride, you will be the most important girl there.”

She beamed at me. “Got the ring?”

“Got it.” I’d picked it up from the jeweler that morning, and the box was tucked inside my bag.

“And you’re going to do it tonight at dinner?”

“That’s the plan.” I’d enlisted April Sawyer’s help in booking what she called the most romantic booth in the restaurant at Cloverleigh Farms for nine o’clock tonight. “But we better stop talking about it now.”

“Right.” Mariah mimed zipping her lips, which had been our secret signal over the last month, ever since I’d told her that I wanted to ask Cheyenne to marry me.

Finally, she’d said.

We’d gone to the jewelry store together and she’d helped me pick out a ring, for which I then sought Blair’s approval, just in case a nine-year-old girl and thirty-three-year-old man did not have good taste in diamond rings. But Blair had taken one look and said it was absolutely perfect. I was worried she was going to let the cat out of the bag, since she and Cheyenne were so close and talked almost every day, but somehow she’d managed to keep the secret.

The jeweler had said he could have it ready for me by Valentine’s Day with no problem at all, “our” room at the Cloverleigh Farms inn was booked for the entire weekend (again, thanks to a little assistance from April Sawyer), and my mother—who knew but had been sworn to secrecy on pain of letting Buddy track mud on her new white living room rug—had happily agreed to watch Mariah and the dog at her house while Cheyenne and I were away. Last night I’d told Griffin, Moretti, and Beckett about my weekend proposal plans over beers at the pub, and they were happy for me—for both of us.

The only other person who knew was Liza, my therapist. We’d discussed it a lot, in fact, and I felt good that she’d been supportive of the idea. Not because I was “cured” or anything, but because I was openly talking about how taking such a big step might affect me and what I could do to cope with the panic attacks that still occasionally snuck up on me. I can’t say that I enjoyed putting all my emotions out on display and dissecting them the way she liked to at our sessions, but I could see how it helped to stop pretending they didn’t exist and take steps to anticipate and mitigate the negative stuff. I liked having a process for dealing with it, and best of all, Cheyenne could see that I was willing to do the work on myself in order to be a better partner to her. I could even see how it made me a better father—more patient, empathetic, and understanding.