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OCTOBER 1899
“Alright, I think this’ll do.” Arthur sighs and slows his horse reluctantly, “We can’t risk goin’ much further.”
You halt your cart and swallow a thick, painful nausea that had been creeping up to your mouth since you left Beaver Hollow. You look across to John as he winces a small smile with a nod of reassurance, though his eyes were telling a different story. You clumsily jump down from your seat and shuffle to meet Arthur as he dismounts heavily and goes to his saddle bag.
“Arthur,” you place a gentle hand across his sunken shoulders as he sighs. His body has gotten worn and thin lately, you had hoped it was nothing more than the stress of the turmoil the Camp was in.
“Don’t be sayin’ you’ve changed your mind.” He whispered huskily, “You agreed.” He wouldn’t look at you, leaning against the side of his horse his eyes stayed shut, trying to keep the pain back from his mind.
He had been your whole life longer than he hadn’t, and you knew that his decision to get you away from Camp before anything got worse there, wasn’t made easily; it’s the only reason you didn’t argue with him about the whole thing, but now? Now it was here, sharply in focus, the end.
“I don’t see why I can’t help you wi-”
“Because I ain’t losin’ you too.” He hisses, his eyes flash open with a desperate irritation as he turns to you, “I’ve already waited too long to get you out, everyone else has pretty much left.” You step back and nod. You know he’s right. The last week since he discussed it with you, waking you gently with a stroke of your hair in the middle of the night, had been sleepless for both of you; not willing to discuss it any further, and wanting to spend every moment you could together in tender embraces.
“I know.” You sigh and make your way back to the cart.
“Rose!” he calls after you, “I’m gonna find you. Once this is all done, once everythin’ is finished. I promise.” He gently raises his arm towards you, a bundle of notes in his hand, “Take this. I don’t need it right now.”
“Arthur, I can’t take this from you.”
He smiles, his eyes glassy as they redden, “Just look after it for me. I’ll come get it when I find you.”
“Arthur. We need to move this along,” John mutters softly, “we ain’t got much time before they’ll be back at Camp.”
Arthur half turns his head back towards John and nods. You take his hand and squeeze it supportively before removing the notes from his balled fist, “I’ve counted it,” he jokes, “it better be all there when I see you next.”
You huff out a shaky laugh as you keep the tears back in your eyes and nod, folding the large roll of bills and placing them awkwardly into your blouse. He takes your bowed head in his hands and gently kisses your forehead.
“Take this,” you pull the photograph of the two of you taken by Albert Mason from your pocket, and tear it in half, separating you and him within the image, you pass him the slice with you on it, “so you don’t forget what I look like.” You joke sadly.
“ARTHUR!” John pushes a little more urgently.
“I’ll see you, Miss.” He taps the brim of his hat, his voice cracking as he turns away.
You’d never said it, neither of you; both too stubborn and too afraid to really allow your vulnerability to show. Even after all these years you’d never said it, but as you watch him slope back towards his horse you know it’s ridiculous to hold onto those words. Something about the pain in his promise pushes you to speak up, your only chance is now, your mind screams.
“I LOVE YOU, ARTHUR MORGAN!” the words fall from you as if they’d been held in your mouth forever. He stops in his tracks and turns back to you, “I ain’t sayin’ this to hear it back,” you reassure, “and I ain’t sayin’ it to make you change your mind about sendin’ me away,” he starts to walk towards you as you force yourself to say your final assurance, “and I ain’t sayin’ it to make you come with me now, because I know you can’t…” you look at his pale, drawn face; a sheen of sweat veiling his skin, “Like I know you can’t come find me when all this is done.”
“Rose I-”
You hold up a hand to gently shush him, wanting him to understand that it’s alright; you don’t want the man wracked with more guilt, making promises to you he can’t keep, “And as this is the last time I’m ever gonna see you,” your voice is barely audible now; grief and heartbreak constricting every muscle in your throat, all your energy fighting against the sobs, “I just wanted to thank you for everythin’... everythin’.” You place your hands on his forearms as he rests his own at your waist, the ache of a man torn apart smeared across his features, “you are a good man, Arthur, if you’d only believe it. And you deserve to know that I love you, and I always will.”
He opens his mouth but is unable to speak, instead he pulls you to him, taking one final, desperate kiss from you, his face wet from your tears as he huffs back his own, parting your lips gently with his tongue, you savour the salty taste of his sadness as he grips you tightly, moving his hands to your face, wanting this moment to never end. He relinquishes your mouth with a heavy breath, resting his forehead on your own, “I will find you, Rose.”
He steps away, and walks backwards to his horse, wanting to capture the sight of you for as long as he can. Eventually he turns, and mounts his horse, taking the reins back from John, you see his shoulders slump as he raises his hand to his face. Without looking back to you, he kicks his horse on, riding off with his friend. You watch frantically after them until their silhouettes aren’t visible.
The men rode in silence for some time before John looked to his brother with concern, “Are you alright, Arthur?”
“No, John,” he replied gruffly, “I don’t think I ever will be.”
******************************************
MAY 1901
June 1900
Dearest Arthur,
I hope this letter finds you. I have to admit I have sent copies to every possible place I could think you might be, if you’re brazen enough to still be in the US.
I know you told me to head North, and get as far from everything as I could, but I am ashamed to admit I couldn’t bring myself to go beyond Valentine, just in case you really were able to start your search for me.
I am well, I have found myself a useful job working at Smithfield’s Saloon – don’t worry I’m not making money how you think! Thanks to my ability to knock out folks, they asked me to work as protection for the girls. So now every fellow wanting a nice time has to be quizzed by me first (as you can imagine they aren’t too excited about that part). It pays poorly but they provide food and lodging for free so I can’t really complain.
Before that, I took some stints as a Bounty Hunter, I saw your face often along with a few of the other men from the Gang. It was almost a nice way to keep an eye on you. Your name stopped appearing on posters after a while, so I stopped looking.
I trust you managed to fix everything that needed fixing, and wherever you are, you are living the life you so rightly deserve. I can’t see myself leaving Valentine, despite its failings, so if you ever find yourself passing through once more, stop by and I’ll buy you a drink.
Ever yours, always,
Rose
Folding the letter with a sigh, ‘Mister Kilgore’ put the envelope in his pack. That letter was over a year old, but it was at least a place to start, she couldn’t have waited around longer despite what she said, what woman would? There was nothing to do in Valentine that could’ve kept her occupied; the cause of most the ruckus had been the Van der Linde Gang anyway, and they were quite obviously extinct now, he thought sadly, remembering that last fight with Dutch. He rolled his sore shoulder stiffly; that injury never fully healed from two years ago, mounted his horse and kicked off on the two-day trail to Valentine, thinking how the hell he was going to explain to you everything that had happened.
You sit upstairs in Smithfield’s Saloon at your usual spot; your feet up on a small desk, reading the paper with a short glass of whiskey in your hand. It was spring, and the sunshine was warm as it streamed through the saloon windows. It was a quiet day at work; most locals knew better than to cause trouble now they knew you weren’t to be messed with. You sighed, bored. You looked at the headlines regarding latest gangs and robberies around the area, contemplating heading back into Bounty Hunting, maybe get that small house built out in the heartlands that you’d always dreamed of. Sadie had always tried to convince you when she was passing through, “you were good!” she’d laugh, “you’re wasted here beatin’ on fellas half-drunk with all their blood in their parts.” She had also joked that with you gone her monetary rewards had gone up.
“Rose…?” the barman peers up the top of the stairs.
“Whaddya want, Mister Smithfield?” you ask without lifting your head from your paper.
“There’s a fella askin’ for you downstairs.”
“Well, have you told him I ain’t on the menu?”
“No, he knows that, he-”
You sigh, putting your glass down as you hear heavy footsteps clump up the stairs, “Well tell him that if he’s here to dispute the way I handled a disagreement with him, he can come back later. I ain’t in the mood to shoot no one right now.”
“Hello Rosie.”
You stop. Your hands grip at the paper, keeping it high, blocking your face. You can’t bring yourself to look; your mind has misled you before. Your heart thumps in your chest as you force your shaking hands to lower, peering over the top of the newspaper; hopeful and terrified, you stare disbelieving at a man you never thought you’d see. He’s tall and broad, his skin flush with sun and good health; his tell-tale smile playing at one side of his mouth through a dark haze of stubble as his eyes shine brightly towards you.
“I told you I’d find you.” He rumbles.
You fling the paper to the side, pull yourself over the desk and leap into his arms, laughing as you nearly knock the two of you down the stairs, “What’re you doin’ here?!” you ask elatedly
“Takin’ you up on that drink.” He runs a hand up your cheek as he smiles, lovingly close to your face.
“You got my letters?”
“Well, I ain’t done a tour of the whole goddamn country to collect them all, but, yeah, I got one of them.”
“You don’t need to, they’re all the same!” You both laugh as he delicately puts your feet on the ground, your head, however, won’t leave the clouds, “How about instead of one drink we get lunch? It’s quiet today and I never take a day off, might as well cash one in now!”
“Sure, Rosie, that sounds good,”
You reluctantly prize yourself from his grip, “I’ll get the cook to give me some stuff, we can ride out and eat somethin’ over by Citadel Rock, that is if you got time?”
He looks a little confused but chuckles, “sounds perfect,” he growls happily, sending your insides to another world. He follows you downstairs as you rush around organising your afternoon. Arthur sits and waits patiently at a table; a beer in hand, watching you dart like an excitable child from bar, to kitchen, to your room to change.
“I ain’t never seen her like this,” Smithfield exclaims, “you must be some fella for her to not have punched you in the guts yet!”
“Oh believe me, it’s happened in the past.” Arthur laughs into his bottle.
“You ready to go?” you appear in front of him breathlessly with a boxed-up pack of food and drink, “I’ll just hitch this to Layla, and we can go.”
You leave the Saloon, trying desperately to stop the skip in your step as your giddiness threatens to overwhelm you. You tie the food parcel to your mare and mount up as you see Arthur sit in the saddle on a lithe chestnut Arabian steed, “New horse?” you ask lightly.
“Yeah,” he sighs a little sadly, “It’s a long story, I’ll tell you when we get where we’re goin’.” He smiles softly as he pats his horse’s neck, “But this boy does me fine, he’s a good guy.”
You beam broadly out at the world as you both carefully pick your way through town, taking moments to glance to each other like shy kids.
“I can’t believe you’re still in Valentine, Rosie.”
“Well frankly I can’t believe you’re here at all.”
You both laugh, and as you get free of the town’s edge, you kick Layla into a gallop, in a silently agreed race with the man beside you. It had been too long since you had felt this rush of joy, and you wanted to reach your destination as soon as you could, if nothing more but to sit in Arthur’s company once again.
You flatten out your bed roll as you sit down in one of the more secluded glens around Citadel Rock; the meadow flowers in bloom, tall and swaying in the breeze of May.
Arthur tells you the events that followed your departure; the last train robbery where John was shot and left for dead, the discovery of Micah passing information to the Pinkertons, Micah killing Miss Grimshaw, and the final day of the Van der Linde Gang; men and brothers turning on each other, while still fighting the Pinkertons. He and John had made a hasty escape through the cliffs around Beaver Hollow, his horse was shot dead. He told you how he thought he was done for, sending John away as he fought off the guns of Lawmen and loved ones. Then he stops, the colour draining from his face as he stares distantly, swallowing hard, “Then Micah appeared. I guess he had chased me up there, that son of a bitch. He was determined to end me before my own body gave up,” he looked down at his hands holding a bottle of beer you brought, “kickin’ the shit outta me. I swear, if it had been anyone else, I probably woulda let them by that point,” he looked at your face, feigning a small smile, “I thought I was gone anyway, after what that Doc told me.” He shook his head, “But I just couldn’t let it be him that did it.” He sighed, bowing his head again, “Then Dutch was there. I was in a bad way, and Dutch came… Only… I dunno, he just left me.” He spat those final words, “They both gave up on me, I guess. Then I just crawled somewhere nice to let it end.” You reach over to his arm and he grabs your hand tightly, looking at you in earnest, “There was a beautiful sunrise,” he whispered, “and all I could think was how I shoulda been watchin’ it with you.” He smiled, his eyes watering for just a second. He snaps back with a clear of his throat, “Next thing I remember, I’m bein’ transported by some kinda stretcher, there’s people chantin’, then I’m in a tent, Rains Fall standin’ over me.”
“Rains Fall?”
When Eagle Flies had passed, the Tribe had to be moved to a new spot to avoid any trouble from the Army. They had heard the commotion the night of the fight, and when the dust cleared, a scout from the Tribe had found Arthur, breathing but barely alive. Rains Fall had called upon his Tribe to stay by the man and care for him, thinking he may be in his final hours. Other scouts found his horse, and brought his saddle bags from it, surrounding him with his personal possessions, believing they would be a healing comfort, “I guess they must’ve done somethin’ because after a week they decided to move me to their community.” Arthur shrugged, “I dunno how long I’d been there, they say I would open my eyes then disappear back into darkness for a long time. Then one day, my eyes just stayed open. Seemed I’d been there for months!” He chuckled in disbelief, “Seems the Doc weren’t quite right in what he said. I mean, I weren’t well, but… Well, I ain’t dead.”
You sat enraptured by him, his tales, his voice, how well he looked; like the first day you’d ever met him. Just to see him living defiantly against his and your own deepest fears was beyond anything you could have hoped for.
He shuffled close to you, his hand still tightly closed around yours, “You know, Rosie, the first thing I did when I woke was ask for your picture from my pack.” He pulled a dog-eared, crease-marked strip of a photograph from his pocket; a now good four-years-younger you beamed out from the sepia, the corner of a man’s shoulder peeking out at the very edge of the rip, “It ain’t left my side since that day.” He went on to explain how he took another 6 months to be fully well, working in the Tribe’s camp whenever he could; fixing equipment, hunting, breaking in young horses and teaching the young men how to do it, as thanks. Then, one day, the scouts confirmed he was safe from the Law’s gaze, and he decided it was time to move on. The Tribe gifted him his horse, Samson, whom he had raised from a young colt, as a good talisman, and he made his way towards the closest Station to collect any mail he had, “And there was your handwritin’.” He chuckled as he drank from his beer.
“Well, I didn’t want you havin’ a tough time findin’ me,” you smirk, picking at the grass in front of you awkwardly, “So, where are you off to next?”
“… Whaddya mean?”
“Well…” you shrug, “…I mean-”
“Rosie, I ain’t passin’ through.”
He laughs at your expression as you stare at him, bemused and incomprehensible. He tilts your chin with his finger, “I found you. Wherever you are, that’s where I stop.”
********************************************
JULY 1907
It’s early, but the sun is already streaming through the thin curtains at the window. You smile sleepily as you feel a large, rough hand slide warmly across your waist, and a contented grunt blow across your ear as the hand’s owner pulls himself tightly against your back. He nuzzles his nose against your neck, lazily planting kisses along it as his hand drifts upwards under your nightdress towards your chest. You feel him smile against your ear as he softly strokes your breasts and pushes his groin tightly against your ass.
“Good mornin’, Mister Morgan,” you sigh happily, reaching your hand up to delicately stroke the back of his head.
“Mornin’, Mrs Morgan.” He mumbles into your hair as he fights it to kiss your collarbone, down your shoulder, slowly coaxing you with his chin to roll onto your back. You roll your eyes and giggle as you look up at him; he’s grinning sleepily as he holds himself above you, leaning down to plant a soft warm kiss on your lips. You smirk mischievously as you feel his excitement brush against you, pushing against the pants of his half Union suit, and you gaze lovingly at him as you run your fingers through his hair; there’s streaks of grey from his temples, and flecks of silver dotted across his jaw. The lines at the corners of his eyes are deep and creased with every smile, and you love each one of them. You pull him to you and kiss him deeply, “You know you’re too late?” you purr as you let the weight of him press down on you while he concentrates on kissing your throat.
“hmmm?”
“The sun’s already up,” you whisper, through pleasured gasps, “and you know what that means.”
“Just means you’re gonna have to be quiet, don’t it?” he raises a smug and victorious eyebrow, “For once.”
“Oh, well I don’t know why you suddenly think I’ll be able to do that after all these years.” You chuckle, “You gonna start doin’ a bad job to help me out?”
“Nope.” He breathes out as he runs his lips across your breasts, “you’re on your own there, gurl.”
In the distance you hear the slap of footsteps getting louder with every second. With a resigned huff, Arthur collapses down onto you and quickly flips onto his back beside you as the door flings open, and he clutches at his chest, collapsing half-off the bed as you gasp.
“BANG BANG! I gotchu, Pa!”
“Ohhh nooooooooo!” he wails, “I didn’t stand a chaaaance! Defeated by that Beastly Bea!”
“I ain’t beastly, Pa! What a mean thing to say!” Beatrice giggles, “It was a duel!”
“Oh then I do apologise, Miss” he says with a wheeze as she leaps onto the bed between you, “I was unaware of the terms!”
“He’s just a sore loser, sweetheart,” you tease as Bea hugs you tightly, while you wink at Arthur.
“I’m so excited, Momma! Do you think I can go across to Uncle John’s now?”
Arthur pulls a hopeful face at you, “I don’t see why no-”
“No, Bea, it’s so early, they’ve got a big day today, and they’ll want a rest. Besides, you and your Father have some horses to look after.” You stick your tongue out as he scrunches his nose at you.
“Alright.” She sighs, and rests against Arthur.
“So after shootin’ me and wakin’ up the whole ranch, you’re just gonna lie there like nothin’ has happened?” he chuckles. She giggles and without any word, nuzzles against his chest, wrapping a small arm across his naked midriff, as he pulls her close to him, “She gets that from you, you know.” he growls at you playfully before he sighs and scoops her up in one strong arm, swinging himself out of bed, “Nah, no you don’t, Miss, we got work to do!” he carries her around to your side of the bed, like a roll of carpet under his arm, and leans down to kiss your forehead, “I’ll get her washed. Say goodbye to your Momma!” He swings the laughing child around so she’s facing you as he’s walking out the room.
“BYE MOMMA!” she waves as she disappears around the corner, the echoing sounds of laughter tinkling through your home.
You shake your head and laugh as you stretch, get up and make your way to the kitchen, putting a pot of coffee on the stove, and checking stores for breakfast, just as you feel the sting of a short, sharp slap on your ass, “You know better than to point that thing at me, Rosie,” he whispers into your ear as he wraps his arms around you.
“What have you done with our daughter, Arthur?”
“Right now, she’s learnin’ how to wash a lot of shaving cream off her face seein’ as she ain’t as hairy as her Pa.” You both laugh as you twist in his arms to face him, sliding your hands up through his greying chest hair before putting your arms around his neck, “Well someone oughtta use it, it’s not like you are!” you tease, stroking at his face.
“I ain’t a fan of the protests I get when I do.”
“True,” you shrug, with a dirty smile, “I ain’t one to ever complain when Daddy’s a little dishevelled.” He furrows his brow with a little aroused oof as he runs his hands up your back, hitching the base of your skirt up a little, and he nudges your nose with his as he looks longingly at your lips before pulling you to him and planting his mouth on yours, taking your tongue with his, running a hand through your hair. As the footsteps grow louder again, he turns to the coffee and pours you both a cup.
“Get dressed, Miss! Your Momma has spoken, we got horses to feed!”
“YES PA!” the flash of dark-blonde hair flies past you as Bea scurries back to her room, “And you better put those legs away, Mrs Morgan, if you expect me to concentrate today.”
“Yes, Pa!” you mock as he goes to your bedroom to dress. You stand back and hug your coffee as you admire the view; though he is older, Arthur is still as broad and strong as he ever had been in his younger days; His arms and back still tough and brawny from daily hard work, his tell-tale swagger even more pronounced as the aches of age chased his muscles. He always liked to joke that working a horse ranch was far more strenuous than anything he'd endured as an Outlaw, but he was a natural; he had always cared for animals, and it was something he got teased for in the Camp.
You go to wash as you hear Arthur gather Bea up and march her towards the stable. It had been a tough four weeks for everyone, you think as you dress; Arthur and John being corralled by Sadie as she had got a lead on Micah. They, with Charles, had taken her up on the offer without hesitation, to finish it all; you understood the need, but didn’t sleep for nearly the full fortnight they were gone; your fears for their lives tearing at your insides as loudly as Abigail’s shouts had as they left. You and Uncle had kept it together for everyone, and he had been a godsend with Bea, as was Jack. You felt lucky to have a family at last.
“Mah horses ain’t hungry they won’t eat your haaaay,
So fare you well Polly, I’ll be on mah waaaay”
You hear Arthur and Bea singing lightly at the paddock as they let out Sadie’s, Charles’s and the Marston’s horses as they go about pouring water and feed into the troughs.
“Then come with me, Polly,
We’ll ride til we commmme
To some little cabin,
We’ll call it our hooommme.”
You step out to watch as the pair work in a delightful synchronicity; thick as thieves, you never thought the day would come where all that you once dreamed about materialised
“Oh sparkin’ is pleasure, and partin’ is griiieef,
And a false-hearted lover is worse than a thiieeef…”
After he found you, Arthur worked in the Saloon and did odd jobs in Valentine while you kept the peace for the working girls. He cautiously worked bounties with Sadie, being sure to let her take those they caught into Sheriff’s offices and collect the loot alone, so he wasn’t remotely recognised by all the wrong folks.
Eventually, the urge to break away came too much for you both, and between you, you had managed to save enough to move away and purchase the materials to build a one-room shack outside of the town. It was meagre but you didn’t care; it had four walls, a roof, a stove and a bed.
By 1903, it wasn’t going to be roomy enough as you told Arthur the news of your pregnancy. He was terrified at first, until he watched your body change; he’d paw at you and rub your swollen belly, tell you how beautiful you were. He was torn between working twice as many bounties to provide for you all and staying home to watch every small shift in his life. The day after Beatrice Susan Morgan was born he asked you to marry him; he had used the take from his last two bounties to purchase a sapphire-stone ring as blue as his eyes, and you took your vows that same year.
In the Fall of 1906, Sadie had come by to visit in your very cramped home, saying she heard about a man named Jim Milton whose description was somewhat identical to John’s. Arthur had gone with her to investigate and he returned with old “Wolf Boy” himself. Tears and embraces and stories followed, John fell in love with his niece immediately, and then you all went about planning your lives; Arthur and John signed for a loan to purchase Beecher’s Hope, turning it into a home for you all. They worked with Uncle and Charles to build homesteads for both families, and soon you had a ranch; Arthur managed the horses; he captured a few wild ones and broke them in, breeding them with your own. Sadie even purchased her horse, Hera, from you. And now, after Micah, you were free; the four vigilantes returned with healable injuries, and enough money to live out your lives four times over. John had proposed to Abigail using a ring Arthur had left to him years ago, and today the big day was here.
You pull Bea’s dress down from the line as you see her sit on Arthur’s shoulder’s; pointing directions and shouting squeaky commands for him to charge around as she pretended to joust, and swash buckle invisible foes. Jack’s storytelling had a real impact on her.
She had her Father’s eyes – piercingly oceanic – her dark-blonde, shoulder length hair was all wild and wavy in the breeze, her laugh was her mother’s filthy chuckle, as was her determined bossiness, Arthur would point out regularly.
“Alright, you two, stop kickin’ up dust, you’re both gonna need a bath!”
“Boooo!” the pair goad at you as Arthur walks towards the paddock gate, breathless and sweating from his roughhousing, a wild-faced Bea still towering on his broad shoulders.
“Gimme that dress,” he says, “She can get ready with Abigail. Just to be sure we don’t get it wrong.” he rolls his eyes and winks before turning towards John’s home and marching over there, “C’mon, troublemaker, let’s go wake up the neighbours!”
You go back to the house, and hang Arthur’s one good suit out to air; he’s had no reason to wear it since your own wedding and you hoped it would still fit. You smile and look down to your dressing table; one framed picture of you both on your wedding day; a very strange affair to any outsider; Arthur, you, Bea in your arms, and the whole Waipiti Tribe as Rains Fall held a ceremony, “I ain’t entirely sure what happened” Arthur whispered as the two of you made your way to the nearest portrait studio on his horse, “But I’m pretty sure you’re my wife now!”, and beside it the two pieces of ripped photograph taken by Albert Mason all those years ago; both sides competing for “most handled image”, as they sat together like raggedy jigsaw pieces once more.
“Urrrgh, I ain’t lookin’ forward to dressin’ up like a goddamn monkey again,” Arthur slopes back into the room, his shirt sticking to his chest a little, as you see the beads of sweat roll down his neck.
“Oh, but you make such a handsome monkey, Mister Morgan. Even if you do need a bath.” You grin up at him as you tug at the waistband of his dusty worn ranch pants. He grunts a little as he smiles down at you, pulling you by your waist, “You gonna come help me scrub my back? It ain’t so easy for me to reach parts these days, I’m gettin’ old.”
“You’re supposed to get clean in a bath, Arthur, not even dirtier.” You purr with incorrigible flirtatiousness.
“Then what’s the point?” he growls, leaning down and lifting you effortlessly. You wrap your legs around his waist as he kisses you tenderly, “All of this, today, every day. I didn’t ever expect for myself.” He looks longingly at you, sentimentality waving across his features, “You got me here. I wouldn’t be who I am without you.” He draws out one long, deep fulfilling kiss with you, followed by a second short peck at your lips, “I love you, Rosie Morgan.”