“She’ll be okay,” I whisper. “She’s on a trip. Nothing’s keeping us apart. Not now, not anymore. Never again.”

Relief gusts out of him. “God, Bea.” He kisses me, deep and slow, pained with wonder. I hold him so hard, I hope I imprint on his skin. I want him to wear me forever. I want him to be mine always.

“I love you,” I tell him, because I can’t keep it in one more moment. “I love you so fucking much.”

“I know you do.” He kisses me softly this time, breathing me in. “I knew that even before you said it. I’m sorry I doubted you.”

“I didn’t tell you,” I whisper through tears. “Because I have never loved someone like I love you, Jamie, and it scares the shit out of me. But you deserve to hear it. You deserve to hear what I was about to tell you when everything blew up on Halloween: that I love you. That I want to kiss you when no one’s watching and paint you for my eyes only. That I want to cuddle under my weighted blanket and watch snow fall and laugh about the weirdest things. Because you are exquisitely precious to me. You are everything I want, just as you are, no conditions or clauses, no end date or revenge, just you.”

Jamie crushes me to his chest in a fierce hug, his mouth pressing sweet, soft kisses down my temple, my cheek, the bridge of my nose, and finally, my lips. When he pulls away, he tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. Our eyes search each other’s as he tells me, “I have an answer to your riddle.”

I bite my lip, remembering what I texted him. “And?” I ask shyly.

“Ah, not so fast.” He slides his thumb along my bottom lip, freeing it from my teeth. “First you have to repeat it.”

“It’s so corny! Fine. Okay.” I clear my throat, then repeat, “What did the lovers call each other when they played chess?”

His thumb trails lower, along my jaw as he kisses me. “Checkmates.”

“I’m surprised you came running toward me, not away, after that,” I tell him.

“Just further testament to how much I love you.” He sweeps me like a bride into his arms, making me squeal with delight.

“Where are we going?”

“My bed,” he says. “Then the sofa. Then the shower. I’m feeling adventurous: maybe even a closet. We seem to do well in those.”

“Ooh, a closet.”

When we’re inside his place, Jamie kicks the door shut, then walks us to his bedroom and shuts that door, too, turning the world soft and quiet. Sliding down his body, I step closer so I can see him and feel him and know he’s real. He’s here. He’s mine.