All They Need

chapter FIFTEEN



THE NEXT MONTH SLIPPED through Mel’s fingers like water. She spent every weekend with Flynn, and at least one night during the week. They worked in the garden at Summerlea, pruning the orchard rather brutally, and Flynn insisted on helping her plant her new vegetable garden, even though she told him she could easily do it on her own during the week.

Flynn was late getting home twice when she stayed with him in Melbourne, but he didn’t raise the subject of the spare key again, even though she half expected him to. He didn’t touch on any subjects that might make her uncomfortable. He continued to call her on the nights they weren’t together, he sent her emails, he made love to her with a single-minded devotion that never failed to drive her wild.

He was perfect. Not once, not by a slip of the tongue or a sideways glance or a hesitation, did he let on that he wanted more from her than she was willing to give, and yet the sense that there was something looming on the horizon—a crisis, a reckoning, an ultimatum—kept growing inside her.

She told herself that when the flash point came she had to be prepared to give Flynn his freedom. He wanted something from her that she could never give him, and it would be selfish of her to hang on to him on that basis. Selfish and greedy and ultimately destructive, for both of them.

She brooded on the subject on a rainy Wednesday night five weeks after he’d offered her his house key. She was in her car in front of Flynn’s place, waiting for him to come home from work. He’d already called so she knew he’d left the office on time, but she’d had a good run on the freeway and arrived earlier than she’d anticipated. She kept the engine running to ward off the chill, staring out her windshield, thinking about Flynn and all the good times they’d shared together.

The more she thought, the glummer she got, until she got to the point where she had to give herself a mental shake.

What’s wrong with you? You’ve got exactly what you wanted—Flynn, on your terms. What on earth is your problem?

She didn’t know. All she knew was that she had a pervading sense of doom. The happiness she felt whenever she was with Flynn couldn’t possibly last.

Could it?

She frowned, disturbed by her own thoughts. Had she become so used to disharmony and unhappiness in her marriage that she now expected it everywhere? Was the ability to be happy and content something else that Owen had stolen from her, along with her trust and her confidence and her sense of self? Headlights swept into the street and she glanced into her rearview mirror as Flynn turned into his driveway. He flashed his headlights at her and she grabbed her overnight bag and made a run for the door.

“Hope you haven’t been waiting long?” Flynn asked as he joined her on the stoop.



“Just got here,” she fibbed.

He kissed her briefly before opening the door. Warm air rushed out at them and she made an appreciative noise.

“I put the timer on the central heating,” he said. “What do you want for dinner? Pizza? Italian?”

“I thought pizza was Italian,” she said as she watched him shed his coat and suit jacket. She loved how rumpled he always looked at the end of the day.

“Smart-ass,” he said, reaching for her.

They kissed long and languorously. After a few minutes he drew back to look into her eyes.

“Have I told you lately that you’re one hot tamale?” he said.

“I believe you have. But feel free to compare me to other foodstuffs,” she said.

He laughed and gave her a pat on the backside before walking away from her.

“Just for that we’re having pizza, my choice.”

“I was going to say pizza, anyway, so it’s my choice, too,” she called after him as he disappeared into the kitchen.

“Perfect. Two happy people, one pizza,” he called back.

She stared at the doorway, the smile slowly fading from her mouth. Two happy people. God, she hoped that was true. She really, really hoped that the tight feeling in her chest was just her being neurotic and anxious out of habit, and that he really was as content with the status quo as he seemed to be. Because if he wasn’t, he was going to leave a huge hole in her life. In her heart.

They ate pizza in front of the television while watching a documentary on Edna Walling that Flynn had unearthed. They fooled around on the couch a little afterward and fell asleep in each other’s arms. Mel struggled to wakefulness out of a dark, claustrophobic dream to find her face pressed against the back cushion of the couch. She jerked instinctively, gasping for air, then realized where she was.

She pushed her hair out of her eyes as Flynn’s hand landed in the center of her back.

“You okay?”

“Just a bad dream.”

“Want to talk about it?” There was no demand in his voice, no insistence. He was offering, openhandedly. The way he did everything.

She started to shake her head. Then she paused. “I can never remember much. Just patches, like flashes.”

She told him about her dream in fits and starts, about the memories it stirred up. He listened and rubbed his palm across her back and made a couple of observations and after a few minutes the panicky feeling began to ease from her chest and throat and belly.

“Thanks,” she said, laying her head on his chest. “That helped.”

“Good,” he said simply.

They went upstairs to bed and he curled his body around hers and held her against his chest. She was on the brink of drifting into sleep when he spoke, his voice barely audible.

“I love you, Mel.”

She squeezed her eyes tightly closed. If she was a normal woman, she would turn in his arms and tell him that she loved him, too, more than anything. But she wasn’t normal. She was scared and she was more than a little broken. So she pretended she was asleep, even though she suspected that they both knew she was awake. And she lay that way for a long time before she finally nodded off.

She was woken by the shrill, urgent ring of the telephone.

She squinted at the bedside clock as Flynn fumbled for the receiver. It was nearly seven-thirty and she realized they’d overslept—Flynn must have forgotten to set the alarm last night when they came up to bed.

“Flynn speaking.” He fell back onto his pillow, the receiver pressed to his ear.

She felt his body go tense even as she heard the sound of someone shouting on the phone.

“Dad, calm down. Take a deep breath. I can’t understand what you’re saying.”

He sat up in bed, the covers pooling around his hips as he listened for a few seconds. “How badly is she hurt? Can you put her on? Okay, no, don’t do that. I’m calling an ambulance now, all right? Sit tight, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Flynn ended the call and immediately rang emergency services. He requested an ambulance at his parents’ address as he flung off the covers and crossed to his closet, passing on the information that they would be dealing with a serious burn.

He tossed the phone on the bed once he’d finished and met her eyes.

“Mom’s burned herself. Something to do with the kettle. I can barely get a word of sense out of Dad. He’s totally freaking out.” His face was grim as he yanked a pair of jeans on.

Mel stood and reached for her underwear. “He couldn’t put your mother on the line?” she asked worriedly.



“He was almost incoherent. Panicking,” he said as he pulled on a sweatshirt.

Mel tugged up her jeans. “How far away are they?”

“Five minutes.”

They finished dressing in silence and she was right behind him when he headed for the stairs.

“Take my car, it’s already out in the street,” she said when he grabbed his car keys from the kitchen counter.

“Good idea.” He pocketed his own keys before getting hers and they exited into a gray, misty morning.

“She’ll be okay, Flynn,” she said reassuringly as they strode to her car.

“I know. He was just so freaked out…?. Before, Dad was always the guy you’d want by your side when the Titanic hit the iceberg, you know?”

She didn’t bother pointing out that the man his father had once been was a thing of the past. Flynn knew that better than anyone. He slid into the driver’s seat and she buckled up beside him.

It was only when he was navigating his way through the quiet, wet streets that it occurred to her that she’d effectively invited herself along on this rescue mission. He hadn’t asked and she hadn’t offered—it had simply seemed right that she be with him while he was dealing with this crisis. She didn’t want him to be alone—to feel alone. She wanted to be there for him.

It should have been a disturbing thought, given her constant battle to contain their relationship. But it wasn’t. He needed her, and she had his back. It was that simple.

No more than five minutes had passed since Flynn’s father’s call when they pulled up in front of a gracious Victorian house with a high wrought-iron fence. It was lovely, but it didn’t come even close to the grand residence she’d been expecting and it took her a moment to remember that Flynn had mentioned once that his parents had downsized recently. Flynn sorted through the keys on his key ring as they raced up the garden path. He unlocked the door and pushed it open so urgently it slammed into the wall.

“Mom!” he hollered as he entered a wide, high-ceilinged entrance hall.

“Kitchen.” It was a woman’s voice, faint but audible.

Flynn broke into a run.

Mel followed, passing a number of doorways before she entered a big, bright French Provençal-style kitchen at the end of the hallway. A woman, who looked to be in her mid-fifties, stood at the kitchen sink, her face ashen as she held her left forearm under the running tap. Beside her stood a tall, broad-shouldered man with Flynn’s bright blue eyes and bone structure. His hair was mussed, his face creased into lines of abject misery as he hovered with a helpless air at his wife’s side.

“I’m okay,” Patricia Randall said the moment she saw them. “No one’s dying or anything.”

“What happened?” Flynn asked.

“So stupid— I was making us coffee and I slipped and the next thing I knew I’d poured it half up my arm…?.”

Flynn moved closer to inspect his mother’s arm. Mel could tell from his carefully blank expression that the burn was grim.

“I’ve got an ambulance on the way,” he said, touching her shoulder. “Hang in there.”

The older woman nodded. Mel saw that there were tall stools parked beneath the overhang on the island counter and she grabbed one.

“Here,” she said, passing it to Flynn.



He gave her a grateful look before offering it to his mother.

“Thank you,” Patricia said as she sank onto the stool. She closed her eyes for a minute. When she opened them again she made eye contact with Mel and offered her an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry that we’re meeting like this, Mel. I promise that we’re not usually so hectic.”

Perhaps Mel should have been surprised that the other woman knew her name, but she wasn’t. In the small hours of the morning, Flynn had told her that he loved her. It stood to reason that he’d mentioned her to his parents.

“The important thing is getting you looked after,” Mel said.

Adam made a choking sound and turned away.

“It’s okay, Dad,” Flynn said reassuringly.

“I’m fine, Adam. Really,” Patricia said. “A bit of burn cream and a bandage and I’ll be right.”

Adam continued to sob. Flynn reached out and grabbed a fistful of tissues from the box on the counter and pressed them to his father. Adam took them without saying a word and Flynn rested his hand on his father’s shoulder while he attempted to gather himself.

Patricia’s face was both loving and resigned as she watched her husband and son. Mel’s chest ached for all of them. So much love here—and so much pain.

A faint siren sound filtered into the house. She glanced over her shoulder toward the door.

“I’ll let them in if you like,” she offered.

“Thanks, Mel,” Flynn said.

The ambulance was pulling into the driveway as she opened the front door. The driver jumped out and made eye contact with her.



“How are we doing?” he called as he helped his partner collect a large medical kit from the rear of the ambulance.

“She’s okay. A bit of shock, I think. She’s got the burn under cold water.”

“Good stuff.”

She stood to one side as the crew entered the house, their footsteps very loud in the echoing hallway.

“Straight to the end, the doorway on the right,” she instructed. She followed them into the kitchen and stood in the most out-of-the-way corner as they spoke quietly with Patricia and assessed her injury. Flynn stood with his father, one hand on his shoulder still, offering him silent support. Adam watched his wife doggedly, his mouth set.

The crew assessed the burn before applying a thick, foamy-looking pad to the entire area and bandaging it loosely. They gave Patricia an injection for the pain and finally announced she was ready to be transported to the hospital.

“Can’t you just do whatever you need to do here?” Patricia asked. “It’s really not that bad now that it’s settling down.”

Flynn opened his mouth to speak but the taller of the two ambulance attendants beat him to it.

“Ma’am, you have a third-degree burn. You need to come with us and get it seen to at the burns unit.”

Patricia frowned, her worried gaze flicking to her husband.

“We’ll follow the ambulance,” Flynn said as the ambulance attendants helped his mother to her feet.

“I’m going with Pat,” Adam said. There was a mulish set to his face, as though he was determined not to let her down after his initial panic.



“Is that okay?” Patricia asked.

“That’s fine. It’s not a long trip—we’re going up the road—but your husband is welcome to ride along.”

Mel stepped out of the way as they made their slow way out the door. Flynn waited until his parents had left the room before sagging against the sink and scrubbing his face with his hands.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“It’s a pretty bad burn.”

“The ambulance guys seemed really calm, though, and I figure that’s got to be a good sign. And she did the right thing with the water.”

“You’re probably right.” He pushed away from the counter. “We should get going.”

He started for the door, then stopped. “Sorry. Here I am, just assuming— You probably need to head home. I can take Mom’s car if you need to go.”

“I’m coming with you.” The answer was out of her mouth before she could think about it.

He reached out and hooked his arm around her neck, drawing her close and dropping a kiss onto her mouth. “Thank you.”

They locked the house and Flynn drove her car to the Epworth Hospital in Richmond. They walked hand-in-hand into the hospital and made their way to the emergency department. An enquiry revealed that his mother was being treated by a doctor and they were advised to take a seat in the waiting room. She sat beside Flynn, talking quietly, doing what she could to reassure and distract him. An hour later the nurse came to tell them that his mother had been moved to a private room and that they were free to visit her. They followed a complicated set of directions until they located her room and found her sitting up in bed with her injured arm carefully resting on a pillow to one side of her body. Her forearm was covered in a thick, many-layered bandage and the tight, pained look was gone from her face. Adam sat beside the bed, his face set in the same dogged, determined expression he’d worn earlier.

“There you are. We were beginning to think you’d gone to the wrong hospital,” Patricia said with a weary smile.

“We’ve been waiting downstairs until the nurse gave us the all clear. How are you doing?” Flynn asked, reaching to take his mother’s good hand.

“Better and better. The doctor wants to keep me in overnight so one of the plastic surgeons can take a look at it. Apparently it’s a borderline third-degree burn and I might need a skin graft.”

“And that’s something they’d do straight away?” Flynn asked.

“I have no idea. I forgot to ask them that.” Patricia gave him a small apologetic smile. “They’ll be back soon—you can ask them yourself.”

“But you’re comfortable?” Flynn asked.

“Very. A little spacey, but there’s no pain.”

“Good.”

Mel had been hovering in the doorway but Flynn drew her forward now.

“I didn’t get a chance to introduce anyone earlier, but Mel, this is my mother, Patricia, and my father, Adam. Mom, Dad, this is Mel,” he said.

“Lovely to meet you, Mel. I wish the circumstances were different, but there’s not much I can do about that,” Patricia said.

“I’m glad to hear you’re feeling more comfortable,” Mel said.



Flynn’s father didn’t say anything and Flynn fixed his father with an assessing look. “You doing okay there, Dad?”

His father met his eyes and Mel could see that the older man was working hard to keep a lid on his emotions.

“What’s going on, Dad?” Flynn asked gently.

“I’m fine. You’re mother is the important one here.”

Patricia eyed her husband shrewdly. “You’re blaming yourself, aren’t you?”

Again, Adam didn’t say anything but his answer was in his face as he made eye contact with his wife.

“Don’t go all quiet on me. Talk to me,” Patricia said quietly. “We said we’d always talk. So talk to me.”

There was a moment of silence before Flynn’s father responded. “I let you down.”

He said it so quietly Mel almost didn’t hear him.

“No, you didn’t. You called Flynn. That was the exactly right thing to do.”

Adam shook his head. “Don’t. Don’t try to make me feel better. I panicked. I couldn’t handle it.” The grief and self-disgust in his voice and his face were so real, so deeply felt, that Mel stirred uneasily and dropped her gaze to the floor.

“No,” Patricia said. “You got help. You helped me. You waited with me.”

“I stood there crying like a baby. I could barely think. I’m useless. Might as well have had a five-year-old in the room.”

Patricia surprised everyone by reaching over the edge of the bed to grab a fistful of her husband’s sweater. Her expression determined, she gave him a none-too-gentle shake.

“You listen here, Adam Randall. You are not useless. You are not worse than a child. You are an intelligent, articulate man. You make me laugh more than anyone I’ve ever met. You still beat me at golf, even though I’ve been taking lessons for fifteen years, trying to beat you. You are kind and you are loving and you are the man I have loved all my life. Those other things you’re talking about, that’s not you. We both know that. You have a disease. A horrible, shitty, low-down bastard of a disease, and that’s the reason you got confused this morning. That wasn’t you, and you did not let me down. You have never, ever let me down. Not once in more than forty years of marriage. You are my knight in shining armor. You will always be my knight in shining armor.”

There was so much fierce love on the other woman’s face, so much determination and vehemence in her voice, that Mel could not look away, even though she knew she was witnessing an intensely personal, private moment.

“I love you so much, Patty.”

“I know. Now give me a kiss.”

Adam’s face was filled with emotion as he stood and stooped over his wife, cupping her head with infinite gentleness as he lowered his head to kiss her lips.

Mel sniffed and finally managed to drag her gaze away, using the sleeve of her sweater to wipe her eyes. She glanced at Flynn to see what he’d made of his parents’ touching, humbling display and found that he was looking at her with a fierce, undeniable intensity.

Everything that lay unspoken between them was in his eyes. His love. His commitment. His passion. Everything that he wanted for them, all his hopes and dreams.



Her breath got caught somewhere between her lungs and her throat for long, unblinking seconds.

Then he looked away and the moment was gone.

But she knew she hadn’t imagined it. She knew that what she’d seen had always been there, sitting beneath the easygoing smile Flynn had offered the world—and her—during the past few months. A feeling of dread engulfed her as she pasted a smile on her face and listened to Flynn make small talk with his parents.

Flynn loved her. He wanted to share his life with her in every sense of the word. Five weeks ago she’d thought—she’d hoped—that she’d struck a deal with him, that they could continue on as they had been, spending time together, their friendship deepening, without her having to give up any of her hard-won freedom or security.

But Flynn wanted more. He wanted everything. He wanted love and marriage and babies and growing old together. He wanted everything she had to give, and he wanted to give her everything in return.

She took a step backward, overwhelmed, as always, by the thought of trusting another person in that way again. After years of not protecting herself, she’d learned her lesson too well and she had no idea how to let anyone in. How to let Flynn in.

She realized that Flynn and his parents were talking, that Flynn had asked her something. It took her a moment to play it back in her head and understand that he’d asked if she was hungry. She said yes because it was easier than saying no and listened as he asked his parents if they wanted anything, then she found herself following him out into the corridor.

“Are you okay?” he asked as they approached the elevators.



“Yes,” she lied.

They bought muffins and coffee from the cafeteria and returned to his mother’s room. After half an hour the doctor appeared to check on her and Flynn peppered him with questions until he was satisfied that he understood the situation. She could see the tension leave his body as he slowly came down from the adrenaline high of the emergency and started to accept that his mother was going to be okay.

By the time noon rolled around, Patricia was sleepy from all the painkillers she’d been given and Flynn decided to leave so she could get some sleep. His father wouldn’t hear of leaving her side, so Flynn promised to return later in the afternoon. They walked out of the hospital into a slow, steady rain, Mel’s sense of dread growing with every step.

Now that they were alone, now that the crisis had passed, the feeling of impending doom that had dogged her for weeks seemed to swell until it was filling her chest. There was no way she could pretend that she hadn’t seen the raw devotion in Flynn’s eyes when he looked at her. She’d kidded herself for over a month, but there was no way she could deny the depth of his emotion anymore. He loved her. He’d said it to her last night when he thought she was asleep. He loved her and he wanted to share his life with her.

In her head, a clock was ticking as she waited for him to stake his claim, to demand that his needs be met as well as her own. To destroy the fragile balance they’d somehow achieved—or, perhaps, faked—for the past month.

It seemed impossible to her that he wouldn’t say something. She’d seen the look on his face, seen the intensity of his feeling. It was undeniable.



He didn’t say anything during the drive home, however, and she grew more and more tense with every passing moment, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I might swing by the supermarket and grab some bread for lunch,” he said. “The cupboard’s pretty much bare at home.”

Inside her head, she wanted to scream. She wanted to grab him by the shirt and shake him until he said what needed to be said. She wanted the impasse to be acknowledged, she wanted the disaster to arrive, she wanted to confront it head-on so she could start to deal with the enormous hole he would leave in her life.

She sat stiff and cold beside him as he pulled into a parking spot at the local shops.

“I’ll only be a moment. You can wait in the car if you like,” he said.

She didn’t say anything as he got out. She watched him stride toward the entrance, confident and assured and beautiful, and something inside her snapped. She wrenched herself from the car and went after him.

“Flynn.”

He turned toward her, eyebrows raised, waiting for her to catch up. She stopped in front of him, feeling breathless even though she’d only jogged a few steps.

“You should just say it,” she told him starkly. “Whatever you need to say. Get it over and done with.”

His brow wrinkled into a frown. “Sorry?”

“That moment with your parents… I know what you want from me, Flynn. I know you love me. But nothing’s changed. I’m still me.” She choked on her final words, strangled by her own misery and brokenness.

His blue eyes looked into hers and she knew, absolutely, that he understood what she was saying. But instead of agreeing and showing his hand and drawing his line in the sand and forcing her to draw hers in turn, he leaned close and kissed the corner of her mouth.

“I was thinking we should grab a quiche instead of making sandwiches, maybe have it with a salad. What do you think?”

He didn’t wait for her to respond, simply gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze before turning and entering the supermarket. She took one, two, three steps after him, following him through the automatic doors before stopping in her tracks.

She watched as he walked into the fresh produce section and started inspecting the lettuces and suddenly she understood not only that he wasn’t going to say anything today, but he was also never going to say anything.

Ever.

There would be no demand from Flynn. No line in the sand. No ultimatum. He would never force her into a corner or ask more from her than she was able to give. He would never do that to her.

He loved her.

He wanted her to be happy. And he was prepared to sacrifice his own happiness, his own dreams, in order to make that happen.

His love was generous and mature and all-encompassing—but most of all it was selfless, in the truest meaning of the word. He gave, but he didn’t demand in return.

The realization rolled over her like a wave, inexorable, undeniable. It was like staring into bright sunlight, painful and purifying at the same time.

This man. This amazing, incredible man…

Tears burned the back of her eyes and slipped down her face as she thought about the way he’d already walked away from his landscape design business for his parents and the long hours he worked to preserve the family legacy and the way he dropped everything when his loved ones needed him. He gave and he gave and he gave. And he never asked.

A wave of heat burned its way up through her belly and into her chest and throat and into her face. It took her a moment to recognize it as pride. Fierce, bone-deep pride in him. Flynn Randall was a man in a million. He was a man who a woman could trust with anything—her heart, her mind, her pride, her passion.

He was a man who deserved a love that was as generous and self-sacrificing and openhanded. A love that wasn’t afraid or self-protective or narrow or scared.

He deserved all of her. Everything she had to give.

If she had the courage to give it.

There was only one answer in her heart. There had always been only one answer in her heart. She just hadn’t been ready to see it.

Her hands trembling, she reached into her pocket. Her fingers closed around her car keys. She pulled them out and blinked away tears as she tried to find a particular key on her ring. She slipped her thumbnail into the split and worked the key free. Then she clenched her hand around it and lifted her head.

Flynn was standing by the bananas. She started walking, the key cutting into the soft flesh of her palm. A woman with a stroller looked at her with concern, clearly worried about the tears dripping down Mel’s face. Mel flashed her a quick smile to let her know she was okay. Because she was okay. Terrified. Absolutely shit-scared. But for the first time in years, she was really, truly okay.



Flynn looked up as she closed the final feet between them.

“Mel,” he said, reaching out a hand to touch her arm, full of concern. “What’s going on?”

She caught his hand and turned his palm up. Then she placed her house key in his hand.

“I love you,” she said. “More than I know how to say. You have given me so much. Been so patient and loving and generous. I don’t want to be afraid anymore, and I know I don’t need to be afraid of you. I trust you, Flynn. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get that, to understand, but I’m here now. I’m ready. I want to do this.”

For a moment he was very, very still. Then he reached out and used his fingertips to wipe away her tears, his gaze warm and tender and full of understanding.

“Good.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, his arms a bruising band across her shoulders. She didn’t mind, she couldn’t get close enough to him, either. She clenched her hands into his clothes and pressed her body against his and kissed him with everything she had in her, trying to convey to him the depth of her feelings.

She loved him. God, she loved him.

After long minutes they came up for air and realized they had a small audience—the woman with the stroller, an old lady, a couple of staff members. Mel felt her face heat as Flynn flashed their audience his most charming smile.

“Our apologies. We’ll get out of your way.” He led Mel outside, where they both stopped and simply stared at each other, eyes searching one another’s faces. She reached out to touch his jaw, her thumb scraping over his whiskers, unable to keep her hands to herself now that she’d at last acknowledged her own heart.

“Thank you for waiting for me,” she said softly. “Thank you for loving me. Thank you for hanging in there even when I pushed you away. Most of all, thank you for trusting that I’d find my own way.”

He caught her hand and turned his head to press a kiss into her palm. “Thank you for being so brave, and for trusting me. I know what that means for you, Mel, and I will never use that trust against you. Ever.” His eyes were solemn, and he spoke the words like a vow.

“I know,” she said. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. A lifetime’s worth. Maybe two. Which may become a little wearing for you at times, but I figure you will probably learn to live with it.”

Somehow she was in his arms again. It felt absolutely right, their tall bodies a perfect match, their hearts—finally—in accord.

“I can handle it,” she said confidently.

She knew she could, too. Because once upon a time she’d been brave and bold, but now she was also wise. She understood that the man in her arms was a remarkable, astounding treasure. A big-hearted, loving, lovely man.

And she was never letting him go.