What do you want?” “You.” He let the syllable hang for a meaningful beat. River wanted her, and he wanted her. His whiskey-brown eyes held the same heat they had in the middle of the night, when he’d woken her with a kiss and turned on the muted bedside lamp before guiding her over him. But then his intensity broke, and he continued with quiet sincerity, “And Juno. Maybe a dog.” He peeked over her shoulder. “I want Fizzy’s insanity and Jo’s cooking. Fishing on weekends with Ron. I know it’s too early to really decide anything, but when you’re ready to take the next step—whatever it is—I’m in.”
