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“You love me?” he croaks.

“We love you,” I correct.

“I know Owen loves me,” he tells me. “But you love me, Faye?”

It's a question, and I can't believe he doesn't know the answer.

It’s true, I haven't said the words, not once. And now I feel terrible for that, because I do love him. I've always loved him, but over these last months, the love I had for him has turned into a new kind of love. A deeper love. A love meant to last a lifetime.

I dip my chin. “Yes, Tate. I love you.”

He looks down at the wallet again, his thumb sliding over the engraved words. My heart plays a melody of emotion in my chest. It thunders and dances. It hopes and dreams and fears a little, too. It's a symphony of feeling trapped in the cage of my chest to live for eternity.

Who knew I could love so deeply, twice?

Tate drops the wallet to the bed, pulling the cookie sheet to the side. He crawls up the length of me, pushing me onto my back as he does.

“Say it again for me,” he commands. His eyes pleading as they connect with mine.

I can taste the strawberry on his breath as I whisper, “I love you.”

His eyes shudder as his forehead connects with mine gently. He inhales my breath, and it feels a little bit like he's pulling my life into his chest, like I'm sustaining him. My love is sustaining him.

I can't help myself; I shift to press my lips to his, feeling his warmth, tasting that strawberry filling.

The kiss is soft, so much softer than before. It's gentle and slow and loving.

His hands tug at the sheet I've wrapped my body in, revealing me to him. His chest is hot against mine, his kiss still languid and slow.

I let my legs fall to the side. I invite him inside.

My breath hitches as he fills me slowly, completely. My mind blanks, my heart stretching wide to fit him inside.

He's so good. He's so kind. And I love him so much.

“I love you, Faye,” he tells me as he strokes in and out of me. Still slow. Still lovingly.

I've never been loved like this before. It was always so fast, so hurried—a race to the end, to the climax.

But this—it's different. It feels safe and lasting. Emotion thickens my throat. I struggle to swallow it down.

His hands roam my face, his fingers diving into my hair to cradle my head. I feel so full, so stretched with him. All the parts of me, my heart, my soul, the blood that moves through my veins—everything feels so consumed right now.

My lips tremble, and his kiss deepens.

“I love you,” he says again. It sounds like a confession, a prayer.

“I love you,” I whisper into his kiss.

He rocks into me again and again until finally he spills inside me.

And I can't help myself as I cry. It's just too much emotion, and it spills over, streaking down my temples to land on his hands. He pulls back to look at me.

“Talk to me.”

“I-I—” I shake my head. “I don't know why I'm crying.”

An unsettled laugh spills from my lips. His eyes search my face, my eyes, in that way that they do. In that way that makes me feel as though he can see beneath my skin to all the truths that not even I know how to read beneath.