My heart hasn’t felt this light and free in months, maybe years. Now that there’s nothing holding me back in Colorado, it’s like a massive weight has been lifted.

The house is a total loss, and so Thursday is eaten up with strategic planning for Christian’s next wave of public appearances and phone call after phone call from my insurance company. It seems like they’re calling every hour on the hour to confirm various details with me—how much furniture was left in the house, the accuracy of my home inventory list, how much I have left to pay on the mortgage.

“Ms. Campbell?”

I answer the phone for the twentieth time. It’s never joyful to deal with an insurance company, but I’m over the moon—and not because of the house.

“Yes?”

“This is Michael Deacon, calling from Mountainside.”

“Hi, Michael.”

“I wanted to call and give you an update on your claim.”

“It’s—” Wait. He hasn’t asked me for another list, another confirmation. “Really?”

“Yes. Could you confirm some identifying details for me for security purposes?”

“Of course.” I rattle off my mother’s maiden name, my birthdate, and my social security number for hopefully the last time today.

“Thank you, Ms. Campbell. I’m calling to inform you that the preliminary decision on your claim is that the mortgage company will be reimbursed according to…”

I’m so swept away by what happened last night, and so worn down by the constant phone calls, that Michael’s voice becomes a blur. I snap back into awareness as he says:

“…of course, this is pending a final walkthrough of the site by one of our inspectors. Someone has already been out to visit the property today, but you should see resolution in the next thirty to sixty days.”

Perfect. All of this means they’ll be sending paperwork, and then I can read the fine print on my own time, when my head isn’t swimming with love and lust.

“Thanks for the update, Michael. Is there anything else you need from me?”

“Nope. Thanks for choosing Mountainside for your home insurance needs.”

“No problem. Goodbye.”

I hang up the call and slide my phone back into my purse, and then I lean back against my seat, relief flooding my body.

From what I understand, most of the payout will go to my mortgage holder, with a small amount left over for me. I wouldn’t care if I got nothing—the sweet unburdening I feel from not having to deal with this house and all its attendant problems anymore is nearly overwhelming. I can always wait to sell the property. Or have Sherrie list it for such an absurdly cheap price that developers won’t be able to resist. They never stay away forever, even after a wildfire.

But the thing that has my heart singing, bursting, soaring is Christian’s words last night.

My own declaration to him slipped out unbidden as I was on the edge of sleep and basking in the unbelievable comfort of being held in his arms, under a cascade of relief from hearing the news about my house. At first, when he whispered, “what?” I thought I might be dreaming, and Dream Quinn had no reservations about telling a man she’s only known for a month or so that she loved him.

When the words were out of my mouth a second time, less garbled and sleepy, something in me froze. It was real.

I felt him take a deep, quick breath. I didn’t open my eyes.

Then he ran a hand over my hair and said, so softly, “I love you, too, Quinn.”

Heat screams across my cheeks whenever I think about it.

There’s nothing holding me back in Colorado. Everything is beginning here in New York City.

It’s enough to make any girl giddy, but I resolve to play it cool. It was late at night, when we said those things to each other, and nearly asleep. People say things late at night. You can’t always hold them to it the next morning.

A smile plays across my face. Those words had the ring of truth, though. So even if we don’t speak them again for a while, I know they’re waiting in the wings.

I’m sure they are.

I leave the office that night still floating on cloud nine and spend the ride home texting Christian flirty messages. He’s at some kind of event with his father on behalf of Pierce Industries, and I have plans with Carolyn.

She’s waiting when I get back to the apartment.

“Hey!” she says from the kitchen. Something smells wonderful.

“Hey! Are you cooking?”

“Baking,” she answers, laughing. “Your house burning down calls for cake.”

“You can’t go wrong with cake,” I say, and go to open a bottle of wine.

Over takeout and chocolate cake, Carolyn considers me. “You’re in an awfully good mood for someone whose house was destroyed. Weren’t you trying to sell it?”

I groan a little. “It was an unbelievable pain in the ass, Care. It would have been nice to have the money, but not thinking about it…it’s priceless.”

“Is that all that’s going on with you? You’re practically glowing.”

It’s hard to get anything past Carolyn.

“Christian and I…might be taking things to the next level.”

“Might be?” she says, her voice rising in pitch.

I can’t help but laugh. I love that about her. “Things got a little weird for a couple of weeks, but he came over last night…”

“Wait. Christian was here, and neither of you told me?”

“It was late.”

Understanding dawns in her eyes. “You little minx.”

My abs are sore from laughing, but the words out of Carolyn’s mouth send me into another fit of giggles. “Yeah…what do you want from me?” I take a sip of wine and smile at her. “I think we’re going to date.”

Concern crosses her face. “What about your job?”

“It’s going to stay a secret.”

“That won’t be easy. Christian’s pretty high-profile.”

“It doesn’t have to be secret forever.”

“If you’re okay with it…” She brightens up. “You’re not afraid to get fired?”

“Oh, I’m totally afraid to get fired.” My mood turns serious. “But Car—I can’t let this go. I know he’s a womanizer and a playboy, but there’s something…there’s something else there. I can’t give up the chance to find out what it is, where it may lead. You know?”

“I know,” my roommate says, her eyes sparkling. “I’ve never heard of him going to a woman’s place before,” she comments, a note of wonder in her voice. “You could be the one.”