Jethro smiled in return, yet it didn’t quite reach his eyes, and that had me frowning again. I could’ve kicked myself. My instinct was to be silly in all serious situations. Sometimes that silliness made me thoughtless.
I shook my head, shoving instinct out of the way and inviting true depth to visit. I gave myself permission to feel the moment.
“That’s . . . that’s not what I meant. Let me try that again.”
I gathered a deep breath and steadied myself by counting the colors in his iris. Green, gold, brown, and blue.
I started again. “Of course I gave you a chance. You are deserving of every good thing, Jethro. I know you struggle with feeling you deserve good things, and I admire you for your struggle, because I think a lot of people would move on or make excuses for their bad choices and behavior. You could blame your father—and I think you absolutely should to a certain extent—or you could blame a hundred different other influences and factors. But you don’t.”
His answering smile was smaller, but I was happy to see it reflected in his eyes. His gaze traveled over my features, warm and cherishing.
I slipped a palm to his chest and pressed it there. “You have a good heart. Thank you for letting me know it. And thank you, Jethro, for wanting to know me.”
We swapped small smiles and good feelings until Jethro pushed his fingers into my hair, lifting it as though measuring its weight.
“You are so beautiful,” he said, his attention skimming from my hair to my neck to my chin. “I don’t think I knew what beauty was, until I met you.”
“Uhh.” The involuntary sound tumbled from my lips, both a grunt and a sigh. I felt his words and the sincerity behind them like an arrow to my heart.
His eyes sharpened and he studied my face with interest. “What? What’s wrong?”
“You and your saying of sweet things, it does something to me. You do something to me.”
Jethro’s mouth hitched to the side with a pleased smile. “Happy to hear it. Because when I’m with you, I feel like I’m both flying and falling.”
“Uhh!” I sigh-grunted again and quickly pressed my lips to his. “I thought you said you don’t write poetry?”
“I don’t.”
“Stop lying to yourself and the world. You are a poet, and you don’t even know it.”
He pressed his lips together, clearly trying not to laugh. Again, I was being silly. Funny was my default, but my default felt right this time, so I went with it.
“You should get a permit, but don’t attempt to outwit, and here’s a tidbit.” I pointed to my shoulder, “This is my armpit.”
Jethro laughed, scrunching his face at me like I was funny and weird—which I was—and gifted me with a smiling kiss. “You’re going to be my wife.”
I nodded. “And you’re going to be my husband.”
He rested his forehead against mine and we sat together for a long moment, breathing each other in, until I asked, “Are you giving me comfort?”
“Yes, Mrs. Winston-Diaz.”
“Good, Mr. Winston-Diaz.”
Jethro closed his eyes, a small grin curving his mouth, and whispered like it was a secret, “Thank you for being lost.”
I smiled and whispered in return, “Thank you for finding me.”