On the other side, she exhales.
So do I.
Later after dinner, I keep her hand in mine. “I don’t want property. I want a woman who can leave and keeps choosing my ugly ass anyway.”
Her lips part.
Then her eyes fill.
“Derby.”
“You want a patch one day, we talk about what it means. You don’t, we don’t. You want my name, you ask. You want me at your place, you invite me. You want me gone, you say it.”
“That sounds too easy.”
“It won’t be.” I lift her hand and press my mouth to her knuckles. “I’m an asshole. I’ll get protective and stupid. I’ll want to check roads and break hands and install seventeen locks. You’ll have to tell me when I’m acting like a cage with tattoos.”
She laughs through the shine in her eyes.
“I can do that.”
“I know. You’re getting meaner.”
“Healthier.”
“Sure.”
She bumps my shoulder with hers. “Meaner sounds like a compliment from you.”
“It is.”
Her smile softens.
I lean closer. “You choose me tonight?”
She doesn’t answer immediately.
Good.
I want her thinking.
I want every yes from her to stand on its own legs.
Finally, she says, “Yes.”
I kiss her, the Fire Pit cake forgotten. Her mouth opens under mine, soft and warm and certain enough to make the ground shift. I touch her face first, then her waist, then wait when my hand finds the curve of her hip.
She smiles against my mouth. “Yes.”
“Just checking.”
“I know.”
The kiss turns deep.
Not desperate like the night she left.
I pull back before we get thrown out for PDA.