“Are you struggling?” he started again. “Yeah. That’s obvious. But, God, you’re a fighter, even if you don’t see it. You had the courage to pick up your whole life and move because you knew you needed a fresh start. You might not be able to open that truck door, but you didn’t just dump it in some storage lot and run. That shit is in your front yard where you choose to confront it every day. You push your boundaries, whether it’s on a surfboard or letting me drag you to a barbecue. You have loyal friends, which means you’re pretty damn loyal yourself, and when death came flying at you in the form of the weathervane that time forgot, your first instinct was to protect my daughter, which is enough to make me fall at your feet without the fact that you’re the most exquisite woman I’ve ever laid eyes on—which you are.” He lifted that eyebrow in challenge again.

My lips parted, and the butterflies in my stomach fluttered so fast the friction warmed me from the inside out, even as they threatened to turn to flame and catch my body on fire. He actually wanted me. He saw the mess and wanted me anyway, somehow finding beauty in everything I called wreckage. Damn it, I didn’t want it to be wreckage anymore. I wanted to be whole again. I wanted to have something to offer this man who took me hiking in the moonlight and pulled me away from my own shadows with his light.

My breath abandoned me as the realization hit—he made me want to live, not just survive and hope for the best. He’d reignited that spark within me from the moment I’d felt that flare of attraction on the beach and the care he’d taken when rescuing me from my own staircase. That spark grew every time he made me laugh, or smile, or roll my eyes. It thrived when I made plans with him, finally willing to look forward in my life. I might have been doing the work in therapy, but there was no denying that Sam was right—Jackson had become my reward for learning to live again.