Azalea’s been glued to my side since the moment she realized it was me in the house with her, and I’m not complaining. Having her near feels like fucking heaven—like the part of me that’s been hollow is suddenly full again.

“What’re you doin’ here a day early?” she asks as I navigate the winding country roads that lead into town.

“Wanted to come ahead of you to make sure the house was warm and ready. Guess you beat me to the punch though, huh?”

She shakes her head and gives a little laugh. “I may have gotten here sooner, but I certainly didn’t beat you. I was about to head into town to get a space heater because I couldn’t light a fire.”

“You use a Duraflame log?” I ask her, and she shakes her head. “Didn’t Dad tell you what to do?”

“Yeah, he did. I just forgot. Thanks for saving me,” she says, her voice all high-pitched like a cartoon princess.

“I’ll always be there to save you, Bit,” I tell her, dead serious.

She smiles at me, and I bask in it. I’ve missed her so damn much it almost killed me. I glance over at Azalea every couple of minutes or so. About ten minutes into the trip, her head lolls side-to-side and she drifts to sleep. I smile when I feel it hit my shoulder, and a soft snore passes her pouty lips.

I make the rest of the drive into town in silence, not even listening to music for fear it will wake her, and it’s obvious my girl needs some sleep. Which makes me wonder if she’s not been sleeping well—and if it’s my fault.

Guilt jabs at me until I park my truck in front of one of the only restaurants in this little town. “Wake up, Bit,” I whisper, nudging her head with my shoulder.

“Mmm, what?” she asks, her voice heavy with sleep.

“Gotta get up if you wanna go eat,” I tell her, and right on cue, her stomach rumbles again.

“This is real? You’re really here?”

I don’t answer her. Instead, I tilt her face up to mine and seal my lips to hers in a searing kiss. “That feel real to you?”

Dazed, she nods before her cheeks split into a magnificent smile. “Yeah, D. Really real.”

“Good, let’s get you fed.” I slide out of the truck before helping her down and leading her into the diner.

We enter the establishment and are met with a sign directing us to Please seat Yourselves. Azalea heads for a corner booth and slides in. I follow, sliding in beside her instead of across from her. We’ve been apart long enough.

“You know what you want?” she asks, and my nostrils flare. I sure as fuck do, I think to myself. “Drake?” she prompts me again when I don’t answer.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. Think I’m gonna get the pancakes and bacon. What about you?”

“I think I’m gonna do the same,” she tells me with a sweet smile.

“Well, alrighty then,” our waitress says, startling us both. “That makes my job easier. Two pancakes with bacon. What’ll y’all have to drink?”

“We’ll both take a coffee, please,” I tell her, earning me a glare from the little pistol seated next to me.

“What?” I ask her as our waitress saunters off.

“You just assumed I’d want coffee.”

“But you do, right?” She lets out this little huff and I grin. “I’m totally right, aren’t I?”

“Yes, but that’s not the point.”

“No, I’m pretty sure it is,” I tell her on a laugh, loving that things aren’t awkward or tense between us.

“Whatever, assface. You think you’re so smooth.”

“Smooth ain’t got nothin’ to do with it. I just know you. I know what you like—”

She stops me with her index finger pressed to my lips. I shoot her a quizzical glance. “Hush up, Drake Collins. All you’re doing is makin’ me fall harder.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” I murmur just as our waitress returns with two plates piled high with pancakes and bacon and two mugs of piping hot coffee.

We make quick work of our meals, and I slap two twenties down on the table before we head to the grocery store on the other side of the town square. Once we’re stocked with the essentials for the weekend, we load the bags into my truck and make the trek back to the lake house.

* * *

A few hours later, we’re both sitting on the rug basking in the heat of the fire. Azalea’s all sprawled out like a cat, with her head in my lap. I glance down at her and find her worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. Gently, I pull it free with my thumb. “What’s on your mind, Bit?”

“I–I guess we should talk.”

“Yeah, no sense in puttin’ it off any longer,” I agree, helping her to move from lying to sitting. “Where ya wanna start?”

She lets out a long breath before offering me a sad smile. “I guess at the beginning.”

“High school?” I ask her.

“No, D. Way before that. Remember way back when I asked you about the day we met and you said you ‘saw me’? Said you saw my hurt and anger that I thought I’d kept hidden?”

I nod for her to continue because I do remember.

“I know I got all defensive and pissy, but you were right. I was hurt and angry. It’s something I’ve recently come to terms with, and it’s a lot of what caused trouble between us—even if it was unknowingly.”

“What? What happened? Who hurt you?”

“My dad. He . . . ugh. Mom didn’t realize she was dating a married man until after I was conceived. He pushed her for an abortion, but she took the money he offered and ran. Listening to her lament over him really shaped my views on men and love and relationships.”

Understanding dawns, and suddenly, I’m feeling like a total tool. “That’s what made you so upset with Kelly.”

“Yep. Pretty much. I always swore I’d never make my mom’s mistakes. And then you inadvertently made me feel like I had one foot through the door in repeating history. I know now that I overreacted. Not only then, but at Thanksgiving and after, too.”

The pinched look to her face is a dead giveaway that it pains her a little to admit her wrongs, which makes me love her all the more. Azalea is a proud woman, and it’s one of the things I love the most about her. But this humble side? It’s pretty damn good, too.

“Not gonna lie, you were a little nuts.” She cringes, and I reach out and take her hands between mine. “But love can make you crazy, Little Bit. You damn sure make me crazy, and as long as we’re communicating with each other and being open and honest, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

She flashes a bright smile my way, her face open and full of hope. “You really mean that? Because we both know I can tend to go a bit off the deep end.”

“As long as you tell me what’s got a burr in your britches, I can handle all the crazy you throw my way.” Hell, I’ll welcome it—not that I’m going to tell her that.

She pulls her hands from mine and rises to her knees and crawls toward me. I draw up to my knees as well, meeting her halfway. I cup her cheek with my palm, and she fists the sides of my sweatshirt. “You’re my everything, Drake Ulysses Collins.”

Sliding my lips over hers, I shift us so that she’s on her back with my weight pressing down on her—not enough to hurt her, just enough so that she feels me. “And you’re mine.”