stolen that moment and showed you. I need another chance at that, when I’m not fighting off nerves and envy. But I have another for you.”
She dragged the box out of the deep pocket of her coat. “Third part of the gift.”
“For God’s sake, you drove all the way over here in this mess to give me a picture? You could’ve been hurt, had an accident. You—”
“Yes. I could’ve. Things happen. But I didn’t, and I’m here. Open it.”
He dragged a hand through his hair. “Let me get your coat.” “I can get my coat. Open it. Look.” She dragged off the coat, threw it over the banister. “That’s the kind of thing I do. Toss my coat somewhere. You don’t even mind. You might some day. So what? Open it, Carter.”
He untied the ribbon, opened the box. She smiled out at him, her cheek against his. It made him remember the kiss, her pleasure in his gift. The warmth afterward, and the feel of her face brushing his. “It’s wonderful.”
“It really is. I kept one of the kiss. You didn’t know I took the shot. It’s a great kiss, a great image. But this—this is us. Looking out, looking forward. Tonight, after the work, and the dealing with things that can’t be controlled, can’t be predicted—good or bad, happy or sad—and then the closet. I’d messed up my shirts, and your jacket was in there.”
“Oh, I must’ve put it there when—”
“It doesn’t matter. That’s the point. It doesn’t matter that my mother is my mother, or that things don’t always work exactly the way you thought they should. Moments matter. I know that better than anyone, but I never let it apply to me. Not to me. People matter, how they feel, how they connect, who they are alone and together. All that matters, no matter how quickly the moment passes. Maybe because it passes. What matters is you’re the blue butterfly.”
“I’m . . . what?”
“Come on, Professor. Dr. Maguire. You know all about metaphors and analogies and symbolism. You flew into my life, just landed in it unexpectedly. Maybe miraculously. And the picture formed. It just took me a while to see it.”
“I’m not . . . Oh, the picture. Wedding Day, the one you took when you were a girl.”
“Epiphanies. I had one then, and I had one tonight. I want this.” She took the picture from him. “I want . . . Here.” She looked around, chose a spot on one of his bookshelves. “I want that. It looks right there, doesn’t it?”
Something squeezed his heart. “Yes. It belongs there.”
“It doesn’t come with a guarantee. Why should it? It’s not a car or a computer. It’s life, and it’s messy, and it breaks down. It’s a promise, to try. I want to promise to try. Carter.”
She walked back to take his face in her hands. “Carter Maguire, I love you.”
As the fist around his heart clenched and released, he lowered his brow to hers. “Say it again, would you?”
“It’s the first time I’ve said it to anyone—this way, I mean. I don’t know why I thought it would be so hard. It’s not. I love you. I love who we are together. I love who I think we might be. I’ll screw up. So will you, you’re not perfect. We’ll hurt each other, and make each other laugh. We’ll make love and we’ll fight. I want us to promise to try not to let each other go. Trying’s all we can do.”
He met her lips with his. There was the promise, he thought. There was everything he’d waited for. There was Mackensie, and she loved him.
“I’m so glad you didn’t make the bed.”
Her laugh muffled against his lips before she tipped her head back. “That was one element of many that coalesced into a moment of absolute clarity. And I needed to tell you. I couldn’t wait. You’re the one who waits so well.”
“It was worth it. Look what I’ve got.”
“I want to tell you something. On Valentine’s Day—our Valentine’s Day—when it wasn’t a ring in the box, part of me was disappointed. That’s what scared me. I’m not scared now.”
His eyes focused on hers, and what he saw in them had his heart leaping. “I want a life with you, Mackensie.”
“I’m asking you to ask me.”
Gently, he brushed his lips to her forehead. “I love your face, and your hands.” He took them in his to press a kiss to her palms. “The way you