“Listen to me.” His voice is low. “Never for one second have I ever not wanted you. And I don’t mean physically. I mean with all of me. When I was eleven, and you amazed me with the way every emotion painted your face during a scene; when I was eighteen, and you tucked my note into your back pocket, blushing; when I was twenty-three, and you said you’d framed my shitty Nat Geo pictures in the apartment you shared with Lyle.

“And that was before, Shelby. Before you opened that door three months ago and let me back into your life. Trusted me with your work and your friends and your dad. Before you showed me your workshop and sang and danced with me and made my entire fucking life when you shouted at me that you loved me before beating me up.” He sinks to his knees on the dirty sawdust-covered floor and presses his forehead to my stomach, whispering to my hands. “I have never not wanted you, and I never will. Never. You are stuck with me. You told me you loved me and I’m all in, Shelby. No take-backs.”

I slip to my knees beside him, tears tracking down my cheeks as I lift his face to kiss him, hard. After a minute, I pull back. “Jesus, Cam. That was a good speech.”

He cracks a smile. “Are you sure it wasn’t too much? I feel like it might’ve been too much.”

I shake my head, sniffing. “Just enough.”

“But the getting on my knees part? That was a lot, wasn’t it?”

I shake my head again, laughing, even as the tears keep falling. “Too late. You’ve done it, and I loved it. Now you’ll have to figure out how to one-up yourself forever and ever.”

His head falls back, and he whispers, “She said ‘forever and ever.’ Let the rafters be my witness. She said it.”

I reach for his jaw and pull him down to my lips, kissing him softly, taking my time. When his lips part, I worship him with my tongue. My fingers dive into his hair, holding him to me, anchoring him, anchoring us to this place, to this moment when we promised forever.

And then we’re promising more. Our kisses become frantic and fiery, and Cam’s hands are moving with purpose, sliding up and along my sides, back down and curving to cup me, while his hips crush against me, sending fissures of pulsing heat to my center.

Without even meaning to, I shift my legs wider, trying to capture the sweet friction, but he has other ideas. In one swift movement, I’m scooped to my feet, and in another, I’m placed on my workbench.

Fucking tree-trunk thighs. I love ’em.