“Aww, you’re making me all squishy. Thank you for saying that.” I check the time. “Okay, I better go. It’s almost time for Winter to come looking for me.”
“I love you, Birdie.”
I smile. “I love you, too.”
She waves her hands at me through the screen. “Go. And know I’m thinking of you.”
I leave the bedroom in search of Winter, thinking about how important it is to know someone’s thinking of you. I don’t think I realised just how important until last year. It makes me think of Maddox, so I send him a quick text.
* * *
Me: Did you recover from NYE yet?
* * *
It was New Year’s two days ago and I haven’t heard from him since. He had a party to go to, so my guess is he had a big night.
* * *
Maddox: Nothing to recover from. Didn’t go.
Me: Why not? What’s going on?
* * *
I run into Winter as I send my last text.
“You ready?” he asks.
I look up at him. “I think something’s wrong with Maddox.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Gut feeling.”
He grabs his keys and phone. Jerking his chin at the garage, he says, “We need to go.”
“I’m just gonna ring Maddox and check in with him.”
He places his hand to the small of my back. “You can do that in the car.”
I let him guide me out to the car while I call Maddox. When he doesn’t answer, I leave a message, “Hey Maddox, just checking in on you. Are you okay? I’m getting the impression you’re not. Call me. Let me know.”
I get in the car and Winter closes my door. I watch as he rounds the car and gets in the driver’s seat. When he drops the keys in the console, I wrap my hand around his forearm and say, “I love you.”
He turns his head to look at me. I can’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, but I know exactly what they look like. Those eyes are part of my soul after all these years of him watching me with them. “I love you, too, angel. You good?”
I smile and lean across to kiss him. “Yeah, I’m good. I’ve got you.”
“Fuck,” he rasps and cups my cheek before kissing me again. He takes his time with it, to the point where I wonder if he’s planning on ever stopping. When he does drag his mouth from mine, he says, “You’ve always fucking got me, baby.”
Still smiling, because my belly is a mess of butterflies after that kiss, I say, “I think we might be late now, and it won’t be my fault.”
“How do you figure that?”
“Well, you were the one who initiated that kiss, so it’s your fault.”
He kicks over the engine. “I only started it because how the fuck could I not, so technically it’s your fault.”