She looks stunned. Wide-eyed, lashes wet, breathing a little too fast. Like a deer caught in headlights. Her fingers are trembling on the napkin, there are tears on her cheeks, and I can’t tell if I just gave her the thing she was waiting for or if I’ve just scared her.
Shit.
Maybe I said too much. Maybe I should’ve eased her in.
Mya clears her throat, voice shaky. “Thank you for telling me this.”
My heart drops.
Not the words you want to hear after a love declaration.
I manage a nod anyway, swallowing the sting. “Yeah. Of course.”
Mya sees the hurt, because she’s always seen right through me.
“No, Worth. I mean, thank you. Because I needed to hear everything you said. I love you too.” Her eyes are fierce throughthe tears. “I’ve loved you since our first kiss. When I said I wasn’t going to sleep in your bed and then I kept doing it. When I saw how you are with Bri. When you fought for her in court. When you bought me that stupid record.” She laughs, wiping under her eye. “I fell for you and then I panicked. Because the only big love I’ve ever experienced got taken away. I thought if I ended it, at least it wasmeending it.”
I have to grip the table to keep from just hauling her across it to taste her mouth.
“I needed to know I could walk away,” Mya whispers. “That I wasn’t staying because I needed a savior. I needed to know that I could stand on my own andthenchoose you.”
My throat burns.
“And I did. I proved I could do it, and I still missed you every night. I still texted your daughter. I still listened to the record. I still counted the days.” She shakes her head, a small, desperate sound leaving her. “I can’t stand being without you anymore, Worth. I don’t want to.”
I push my chair back and lean across the table. “Come here.” I cup her face in both hands and kiss her.
It’s not a careful kiss. It’s months of missing her, weeks of restraint, a whole year of pretending we were temporary. She melts into it instantly, hands coming up to my wrists, mouth opening under mine like she was right there with me the whole time.
She tastes like wine and cinnamon andMya. I groan against her, deepening it, and she makes that soft sound in her throat that always undoes me.
God, I missed this woman.
I could stay like that forever, bent over a restaurant table like a teenager, but then a small shape appears near us.
Brianna is back, quietly sliding into her chair. Without saying a damn word, she reaches into her little purse, pulls out the navy velvet box, and sets it on the table between us.
Then she winks at me.
I pull back from Mya with a breathless laugh, because of course my kid would do this.
Mya looks between us, eyes wide. “What is that?”
I pick up the box, thumb brushing the velvet.
“This might be crazy,” I say, turning back to her, heart pounding like I just ran a marathon, “but I don’t want to spend another moment apart from you.”
Mya’s eyes instantly fill again.
I stand. Chairs around us scrape as people notice what’s happening. I don’t care. I step around the table, take her hand and, like I should’ve done a year ago, I get down on one knee.
“Mya Dessen-Jones.” I look up at her, every single thing I feel probably written all over my face. “Will you marry me? For real this time. No contracts. No timelines. No deals. Just us.”
She gasps, hand flying to her mouth.
Behind me, I hear Bri whisper, “Say yes, say yes, say yes.”
The restaurant quiets. Phones come out. Someone gasps in French.