He brushes my hair out of my face and kisses my forehead. “I love you too.” We linger in the silence and the glow of the feelings between us, but something’s still gnawing at me. Finally, I sit up to look down at him.

“I’m sorry for pushing you away. But after the way we lost Casey, I thought I knew what things were going to look like for me, and I couldn’t bear to put you through that.”

“It’s okay. I understand. But from here on out, I want you to know you can tell me anything. No more hiding things from each other, even if it’s supposed to protect. Because I want to be there for you, but I can’t do that if you won’t let me.”

I nod, and he pulls me down to kiss him again. I’ve lost track of the number of times we’ve kissed, but there’s something potent in this one. It’s like everything we’ve ever wanted to say but couldn’t or didn’t have the words for is coming out now, sealed between us.

Declan must be feeling it too because the kiss quickly heats up, but when I try to slip my hand beneath the waistband of his pants, he grabs my wrist and stops me gently. “You need rest, hummingbird, which means I’m not going to fuck you right now.”

I can’t help pouting a bit at that. He’s right, but that doesn’t make it any less disappointing.

He chuckles at my reaction, pressing another chaste kiss to my lips before he adds, “But that doesn’t mean I can’t find another way to entertain you. Hold on.”

Before I can figure out what he means or what he’s up to, he bounces off the bed and goes to pick up the remote for the TV in my room. He turns it on and puts on a movie, a romcom I haven’t seen or heard of, then disappears for a few moments. I hear him rummaging around in the kitchen, and eventually he comes back with a little bag full of stuff. He brings it back to the bed and opens it up, revealing crochet supplies. “I left this here just in case.”

I laugh as I pull out some of the supplies. “Just in case what? You got stranded here and couldn’t crochet?”

Declan winks at me. “Something like that. Here, I’ll show you how to do it,” he says and pulls out the crochet hook and some yarn to demonstrate how it’s done.

I’m hopeless at it, but I’m sure he wasn’t very good when he first started either. And whether I make a mitten full of holes or a masterpiece blanket, I don’t really care. All that matters to me is being here, with him, and spending time together like this.