Back to You

To the lovers of music and the believers of second chances and especially to everyone who fell in love with Mia & Declan in Man of My Dreams.





Tracing the tattoo that surrounds my name, I count all the little ‘ones’—different sizes, fonts, and boldness—that form the shape of a heart. What a unique, creative concept. It’s so Declan. I’m his one and only and he’s not afraid to wear that truth over his heart.

My eyes never leave the beautiful artwork as I ask, “It doesn’t really matter now, but how did you know where—”

Grace clears her throat and I know without a doubt that she was in cahoots—again—with my husband. My husband. God, how I missed him. I know it didn’t seem that way when I was sitting across the table from Noah, but—no buts. I don’t want to question any of this. This is where I belong. This is who my heart belongs to. It always did.

As soon as the spotlight surrounded him on that stage my body flooded with a rush of inexplicable emotions. Raw, heart-thumping, adrenaline-rushing emotions. Panic, excitement, shock, guilt, desire and the last one… forgiveness. It took a while to grasp that, while my mind was engulfed with so much at once, but in that moment, realizing Declan was fighting for me—it was all I needed. I allowed his voice to burn the words about being his everything into my soul.

That song. Our song. So many wonderful memories. The lyrics, the growl of his soulful voice, the way he looked at me when he sang them—I knew then that I was fooling myself by ever believing my heart could belong to someone else.

And now, sitting in the back seat of Grace’s car, wrapped in the security of my husband’s arms, I’m ashamed of what I put us through these last few months. I was selfish and foolish—I acted like a teenager instead of a responsible wife and mother. I should have fought for my marriage instead of running into the arms of another man. Declan might not have been innocent and yes, that was the beginning of this whole mess, but I dragged this out for months because of one regret. How does he not hate me? I’m the one who should be begging for forgiveness.

“Declan, I am so sorry for everything I—”

He brings a finger to my lips, silencing me. “Shhh, babe. It’s over. I don’t ever want to look back.”

I wish it were that simple. I wish with all my might, but it’s not. There’s no doubt in my mind that we will work it out this time. Yes, the worst is behind us, but we’re fooling ourselves if we think this won’t take some serious effort.

I will myself to let it go, even if just for tonight. I don’t want to ruin this with confessions and hurtful truths. Now is not the time. Now’s the time to let him know how much I love him. I tilt my head to look at him. I see past the broken nose, the tousled hair, his blood soaked shirt. I only want to look into his eyes—it’s the door to his soul.

He runs his fingers through my hair and smiles, tears brimming the icy blue of his eyes. “You came back to me, Mia.”

I gulp back the lump in my throat, trying hard to stop the tears from gushing. But it’s no use, they’re uncontrollable. So much time wasted. So much hurt that could have been prevented, and yet, he sees past all of it. He loves me, flaws and all. “Thank you for knowing what I needed. Thank you for fighting for me.”





“Three more days, babe. And this better be the last damn time I have to travel to the other side of the world for this client.” Declan’s frustration seeps through his groggy voice.

Hong Kong and Declan are not best friends. Hong Kong and I are not best friends. But as much as I want Declan home, I need him not to be right now. How ironic is that? We spent enough time apart this year—time we could have been making memories instead of making mistakes and being stubborn. I hate the idea of any time apart now that we’re finally back together—getting back to good—but as much as I despise his job for always ripping him away from me and the girls at the most inopportune times, this time—it couldn’t have been planned better.

Declan interrupts my racing, guilty thoughts when he hears the ruckus from the contractors. “Hey, what’s that noise? Sounds like banging.”

Shit! I want this to be a surprise—a special anniversary present—and the hammering and sawing are pretty obvious. I should’ve known better than to answer his call while down here.

Muffling the phone with my palm, I walk away from the chaos. “Um, no… no banging. The TV’s too loud and the girls are um… knocking down block castles.” I dart for the stairs and head back up from the basement to the kitchen. I like being involved in the project, but I can’t oversee every second of the job—I have no idea what to look for anyway.