“September thirtieth,” he answered instantly.
That would have washed over me too, in a happy way, but it didn’t (well, it did, just that I was shocked).
“Seriously?”
His brows drew together. “No boundaries,”
I couldn’t believe this.
He knew it. I knew when he growled, “Not lyin’, woman.”
“Baby,” was all I could get out.
“What?” he clipped.
I wanted to start giggling.
I didn’t.
Instead, I said, “That’s my birthday too.”
He stared. Then he grinned.
And all was right in the world.
“No shit?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“Meant for me, Cassie,” he murmured. “I know ’cause eight years from the day God put me on earth, he put you here for me.”
He was so wrong.
“No,” I disagreed. “Eight years before I got to this earth, he put you here for me.”
His eyes started dancing again before that light faded and his expression got serious.
“Got one more thing to ask of you.”
“Shoot.”
He took his hand from my jaw to wrap his arm around me again and both held me close.
“Need you to talk to someone about watchin’ Glacier Lily. Need to go to Iowa, see my folks, mend what I broke, and when I do, I want you to be with me.”
Yes.
Yes.
It was back.
I felt glee.
“I’m there whenever you’re ready,” I replied immediately.
“Fuck, I love you,” he returned on a powerful arm squeeze.
“Love you more.”