It had been too long—far too long—since Garrick had last seen her. Months of war, of missions pulling them in opposite directions, of sleepless nights spent wondering if she was still alive, if she was safe, if she missed him the way he missed her.

And now, finally, she was here. With him.

Straddling his lap, her body pressed against his like she had never been gone at all. But she had—and fuck, he had felt every second of it. His hands traced over her back, relearning the shape of her, grounding himself in her warmth. One hand found her cheek, his thumb brushing along her skin as he studied her face—so tired, just like he was, the weight of war carved into her features. But she was still her. Still the woman who had owned his thoughts every damn day since the moment he saw her.

“It’s been two months,” he murmured, voice rough, disbelieving. Two months since he’d last touched her, kissed her, breathed her in. Two months of battle reports and distance, of hearing about the dangers she faced but being powerless to protect her. She had been stationed at the border, so far from him, and the ache of it had nearly driven him mad.

But here, in this old home in Aretia, they were alone and she was his again. Completely.

His forehead rested against hers, his breath mingling with hers, as he whispered the only thing that mattered.

“I missed you, love.”