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Achilles had his heel. Samson had his hair. Superman had kryptonite. And I… I had Sydney.
Loving them doesn’t mean you have to allow them to underestimate you.”
“There are no experts on loving, Ranger. Just people brave enough to try.”
I learned more about myself by being around her, and if that wasn’t a good foundation for a marriage—even a temporary one—I didn’t know what was.
“So, then it’s up to you, pretty boy. What are you willing to wager on your wife?” She arched an eyebrow. My throat clamped shut. His wife. Every time someone else said it, it made my stomach flutter. “Everything,” Ranger murmured, his voice catching as his eyes connected with mine. Intense. Unquestionable. “I’m willing to risk everything on her.”
It was easier to believe I was hard to love than it was to accept that it was hard to love. It was hard to choose vulnerability and uncertainty and irrationality over everything else.
“According to Einstein, time is relative—a measurement affected by gravity. And in the eleven weeks, six days, nineteen hours and thirty-six minutes since I met you, I’ve never fallen so hard, yet my feet haven’t left the ground. The only conclusion is that gravity has changed because you’re around, and therefore time has, too.”
“Having a life I can’t forget isn’t the same as having a life worth remembering. And the only life worth remembering, Sydney, is the one that has you in it. You’re my snow angel, the part of all of this worth savoring… you’re my magic.” His warm breath fused to my lips. “Say you’ll stay tonight… and the rest of your life?”
I’d always perceived love as this amorphous emotion, something I wanted, but I was never sure how I’d be able to understand it enough to hold on to it. But it wasn’t. It was concrete. It was as strong as gravity. As swift as lightning. As warm as the sun and as enduring as time. It was an equation made of variables of touch and taste, conversation and connection, but it was one that wasn’t meant to be solved; it was meant to be lived.
One day, I’d explain that happy endings were only for books. In real life, love was only ever the start of happy beginnings.
