Toryn moved to stand in front of me. He rested his hands on my chest, his shirt flexing tight around his biceps. His gray eyes held a light inside of them, the intensity of his gaze making a shiver curl down my spine. His cheeks were flushed from the sun, hair a little damp with sweat.
He looked healthy and happy. He was beautiful.
 
“God,” Toryn said, the words breathless and shaky. “I hate that Jon isn’t here, and I’d give almost anything to have him back again. But he brought me you, and I can’t help but be grateful for that.”
Pressing my forehead against Toryn’s, I whispered, “I’m grateful he brought me to you, too.”
I brushed my lips over Toryn’s and he hummed, tilting his head slightly, inviting more. I kissed him again, a small, close-mouthed kiss. We exchanged several of the same until Toryn’s mouth parted, his tongue sweeping along the seam of my mouth in unhurried exploration, rather than heated and demanding. We had a lifetime of kisses ahead of us.
 
These kisses told him all the things I couldn’t say out loud—how he reached out to me when I’d woken up from a nightmare, how his laugh carried me through the days when stress took over and made me on edge.