I wake to darkness and Ariel singing about how desperately she wants to be part of the human world.

Kaylee's home.

Which means Hunter's gone.

My heart twists.

I want him here.

I want him a million miles away.

I want some magic apology that will earn my forgiveness.

Hell, I want to hate him as much as I keep telling myself I do.

But I can't see him as a traitor who betrayed me.

Only as a hurt guy who keeps sabotaging himself.

He warned me about his self-destructive streak.

I guess it's like that saying goes.

When someone tells you who they are, believe them.

I slip into the bathroom. Brush my teeth. Wash my face. Join Kaylee on the couch.

She rests her head on my shoulder. "You okay?"

"No." I wrap my arm around her. "But I'll get there."

"Even if he decides he'd rather be friends—"

"Maybe. But, God, I hope he doesn't."

"Me too." She grabs a bar of chocolate from the table. Breaks off a square. Hands it to me. "Brendon is sorry. He just—"

"I know. We'll talk. I'll get over it."

"Yeah?"

"Don't tell him though. I want him to sweat this for a few days."

She laughs. "You know I can't—"

"I know. But let me believe he's suffering."

"He is. He hates that—"

"No apologizing for him. Just informing on suffering."

"He's wracked with guilt. He can't eat or sleep."

"Or fuck?"

"Well, if you really want those details."

"I don't."

"It would distract you."

"Yeah. It would." I let the chocolate melt on my tongue. "But this is good too."

After two more movies, Kaylee goes to sleep.

I stay up. Pore over the design Hunter drew on my desk.

My fingers trace the lines again and again.

Until my fingers are numb and my eyelids are heavy.

Somehow, I crawl into bed. Shut my eyes. Find sleep.

I dream about Hunter and apologies and a big, beautiful world where I can trust someone with my heart.

I wake to a heavy guitar riff.

It's still comforting.

It's still my favorite song.

And that—the smell of coffee.

And—shit—is something burning?

I jump out of bed. Into the main room.

Hunter is in the kitchen, flipping a pancake. Though that's putting it charitably. That thing is a charred mess.

He shoots me an apologetic look. "This is outside my skill set."

"Turn the burner down."

He does.

"Everything on a plate."

He stacks the charred, pancake-like discs of flour, eggs, and canola oil on a plate.

"Give me five minutes."

He nods.

"Don't burn the place down."

"I'll try."

"You'll do."

He chuckles.

"What?"

"You sound so nerdy now."

"How?"

"That's what Yoda says."

"You barely like Star Wars."

"Didn't say you got it from me."

"Shut up and make more batter."

"Yes, Mistress."

I fight my chuckle. God, it's good to see him. And hear his voice. And smell his shampoo.

I have to drag myself to the bathroom.

And, yeah, okay, I do make a point of fixing my hair, applying concealer and lipstick, changing into a cute dress.

If he's here to fix us, I want to remember it like this.

If he's here to end us, I want to make him feel the loss.

Deep breath.

Steady exhale.

I step into the main room.

His eyes fix on me.

Fill with appreciation.

Need. Affection. Love.

God, there's so much in those gorgeous blue eyes.

I want all of it.

I want to shoulder his pain.

To share mine.

To hold him up when he needs that.

And lean on him when I need that.

He's here, playing my favorite band and fixing my coffee and hopelessly trying to make pancakes.

God, I hope he figures his shit out better than he makes pancakes.

"You look gorgeous." His voice is soft. Sweet. Loving.

God, I need that. All of it. "Thank you." I step into the kitchen. Focus on our task.

Oil. Burner. Batter. Spatula.

He stays close as I fix a round of pancakes.

Then a second.

The room fills with the smell of chocolate and flour.

He pours a cup of coffee for me.

My fingers brush his as I take it. "You really make a girl wait."

"Need to improve my chances."

My lips curl into a smile. I can't help it. He's just so… Hunter.

And, fuck, this is good coffee. Smooth and clear with hints of grapefruit and almond.

I let out a heavy sigh.

His pupils dilate. "Fuck, Em. You have no idea what that sound does to me."

"So tell me." Explain this. Justify it. Convince me to forgive you.

He brushes my hair behind my ear. Rests his palm on my cheek. Rubs my temple with his thumb.

Fuck, that feels good.

I want to soak up the comfort of it.

But I can't.

Not if it's some sort of shitty consolation prize.

God, this whole thing could be some shitty consolation prize.

I don't love you. I can't be with you. But I can do breakfast. That helps, right?

My stomach twists.

My heart pounds.

My balance falters.

Waiting is impossible.

But, somehow, I manage to sip my coffee.

To stare into his gorgeous blue eyes.

To wait.

It feels like it takes a million years.

Finally, he moves closer.

"I thought about what you said." He sets his mug on the counter. Brushes my side with his free hand.

"Which part?"

"Mostly about me being an idiot."

"You are."

He nods. "Thoroughly."

I suck a breath through my teeth. That sounds good. But it… I… "And?"

"You were right. You're sharp as hell. You're certainly smarter than I am."

"Obviously."

His lips curl into a half-smile. "You know what you need."

I nod.

"I'm not used to that. I'm not used to people who really do know best. Fuck, Em… I can't remember a time when I had my best interests at heart. When I knew enough about who I was to know if I was good for someone."

"You… your brother really hates you."

"Yeah. He will for a long time. I deserve that. I'm the one who fucked that up. I was an asshole for years. I still am sometimes."

"Yeah. A lot."

He chuckles. "I'm getting there. I'm trying. But, fuck, it's hard seeing myself as this guy who deserves to be in your life."

I swallow hard.

"I want to believe I'm making your life better."

"You are."

"I know. I get it, intellectually, but it's hard to feel it." His voice drops. "I'm getting there. Learning how to see things as they are. But it's hard. It's going to take me awhile."

"Okay."

"If you don't want a damaged guy—"

"I would have kicked you to the curb a long time ago."

His lips curl into a smile. "I got you something."

"Yeah?"

"Close your eyes."

I study his expression, but it doesn't give me a clue to his intentions.

I'm not sure where he's going.

Only that I want to find out.

I close my eyes.

He unpeels my fingers from my coffee cup and sets it on the counter.

He takes my hand. Brings it to his stomach. The soft fabric of his shirt.

Something slick underneath it.

Plastic wrap stretched over muscle.

I don't wait for instructions.

I open my eyes.

There it is.

Just above his hip bone.

Above the waistline of his jeans.

The design he drew on my desk.

The one that's ours.

"You…" My eyes go wide. My fingers press into his skin. I… He… What…

"I'm all in."

"But…"

"I love you, baby. More than I've ever loved anyone. I'm yours if you'll have me."

"Yeah. Of course." I stare into those gorgeous blue eyes.

He loves me.

He's all in.

He…

I rise to my tiptoes to press my lips to his. "I love you too."

"Fuck, I missed you."

"It was a day."

"I still missed you."

"Then don't fuck shit up again."

"I'll try."

"We just talked about this."

"Okay." His lips curl into a smile. "I'll do."

"Yeah." I take his hand and motion to the bedroom. "You will."

"Baby, that was terrible."

"Yeah, maybe. But that doesn't change the facts." I step into my bedroom and motion for him to follow.

He does.

And it really is fucking perfect.