âYou can keep everything of me,â he murmured, a slow, playful grin tugging at his lips as she teased him. âMore than just my finger.â
There was warmth in his toneâlight, unguarded, almost boyish. It felt good to tease each other again. To flirt without fear. To let the air between them feel easy instead of fragile. For the first time in a long while, it felt like maybe things werenât irreparably cracked. Maybe they were simply⌠bruised. And bruises healed.
James wanted this. Wanted her. Wanted them.
He wanted to tryânot halfway, not cautiously from behind emotional wallsâbut truly try. Because he loved his wife more than anything in this world. More than his pride. More than his fear. More than the quiet, gnawing voice that sometimes told him he didnât deserve something this good.
That was the harder part, wasnât it? Not loving herâthat had always been the easiest thing heâd ever done. It was loving himself enough to believe he was worthy of her staying. Worthy of her forgiveness. Worthy of her choosing him again.
He had to allow her to love the broken man he was.
A shadow passed briefly through his thoughtsâold memories, sharp and unwanted. The fear that he might hurt her again. That somehow, despite all his intentions, he would fail her. That part of him had never completely disappeared. It lingered in the quiet corners of his mind, whispering reminders of past mistakes.
But right now, holding her like this, he made himself a promise.
If he ever hurt her againâintentionally or notâhe would not run from it. He would not hide. He would not let pride or fear swallow him whole. He would fix it. He would do everything in his power to make it right. And he would never, ever hurt her on purpose. That, at the very least, he could control.
âI love you,â he said softly in return to her affectionate words.
The words felt different now. Fuller. Earned.
She fit against him so naturally, as though she had been shaped to rest in his arms. Tiny compared to him, yet somehow the only thing that ever made him feel steady. He wrapped himself around her, chin resting lightly atop her head, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair.
âI love you so much, Tina.â
His voice was thick with itâgratitude, relief, devotion.
He had missed saying those words. Missed the way her body softened when she heard them. Missed the quiet certainty that followed, like a shared heartbeat.
He pressed a gentle kiss to her temple, holding her just a little tighter.
And this time, he wasnât saying it as something fragile or fleeting.
He was saying it as a promise.
He would tell her tomorrow. And the day after that. And on ordinary Tuesdays when nothing special had happened. He would say it in arguments and in laughter, in kitchens and doorways and half-asleep murmurs before dawn.
He would tell her forever.
Because loving her wasnât the difficult part.
Staying. Trying. Choosing her every single dayâthat was the work.
And for her, he was ready to do it.