“Yes.” I bring her hand to my lips and press a soft kiss to it. “You can have all of me. All I want is to make you happy. To make you whole, just like you did for me.”

Tears fill her eyes. “I want that too.” She draws in a deep breath. “But I’m scared. What if it doesn’t work out?”

I press my lips to her knuckles again and then hold her hand in my lap. “Aren’t you the one who told me it’s okay to be vulnerable sometimes?”

She smiles. “I guess I was. Are you thinking I need to take my own advice?”

“It was good advice. Come on, sweetheart. Take this chance with me.”

“You’re a hard man to say no to.”

I place my fingers beneath her chin and bring her mouth to mine. Our kiss is slow, sweet, soft. When I pull back a moment later, there are unshed tears glistening in her eyes. I tug Summer into my lap, needing her close, needing to comfort her.

“I love you, Summer.” My voice is thick with emotion, and hers is too when she says it back to me.

“I love you, Logan.”

They’re the four best words I’ve heard in a very long time.

“But just so you know . . . being with me comes with a big, loud family.”

She laughs. “Yeah. I kinda figured that out.”

“They love you, you know.”

“I love them too,” she says, and I know she means it. “We can spend Christmas snowed in with them?”

“Of course.” I trail my hand along her spine, gently rubbing her back. Now that she’s finally in my arms again, I can’t seem to stop myself from touching her.

“And Thanksgiving?”

“If you like. My mom makes the best sweet potato pie in the entire world. And my brothers fight over who gets to carve the turkey.”

She lifts her head from its resting place on my shoulder and meets my eyes. “Who usually wins?”

“Grandpa Al,” I say with a grin.

“Of course he does. It sounds perfect.”

“It is, but wherever you are will be perfect too. You’re what I want. We can make our own traditions. If you want to have Thanksgiving dinner right here in this apartment, we’ll do exactly that.”

She glances toward her efficiency kitchen with its tiny two-burner stove. “My kitchen sucks.”

I chuckle at her honesty. Her kitchen does leave a lot to be desired. “I’ll build you a better one.”

“My hero,” she says wistfully, grinning at me.

I brush her hair behind her ear. “I tell you I love you, but you’re more excited about me telling you I’ll build you a kitchen.” I raise one eyebrow in her direction.