I nod, understanding what she’s hinting at. “I’m worried too. I’m not happy with how I reacted. I was a total asshole. But I’m going to make it right.”

“And what about you? Are you going to be all right?”

Flashing her a reassuring smile, I tell her I’m fine. Nothing to worry about here.

Maybe the smack on the head knocked some sense into me, because I’m not mad or upset anymore. I temporarily lost sight of what was important, but my vision is ultra-clear now.

I find Ember in the sunroom, napping with a soft blanket over her. My heart cinches at the sight of her hand clasped around her cell phone. I don’t wake her, but I take a few minutes to quietly study her.

In the natural light, without makeup on, the changes from the surgery don’t look as drastic as they did last night. Tor had it right—she still looks like herself, but with Kenzi’s nose. Her lips are slightly fuller, her cheeks a little less gaunt. She actually looks like how I’d picture another daughter or sister of hers to look, but with dark hair.

She’s beautiful.

Careful not to wake her, I lean down and touch my lips softly to her forehead before I go upstairs to shower and scrub last night’s debauchery off me. The last thing I want is for her to see me looking disheveled and unhinged, reeking of smoke and alcohol.

Moving through the house, I smile at all the little changes she made, subtly transforming the house with new wall and trim paint, artwork, throw rugs, a few furniture pieces, lamps, and light fixtures. The kicker is the master bedroom. It stops me in my tracks when I enter the doorway. The new furniture is kick-ass—like something out of a gothic movie. I walk around the room slowly, gliding my hands over the furniture, the new bedspread, and curtains. Surprisingly, I don’t feel a sense of loss over the memories that were attached to the old items. Those memories can live on in my heart.

They don’t need to be front and center anymore.

Ember is staking her claim, making this life hers, and not only do I understand it, I like it. It’s what we both need.

After I take one of the longest, hottest showers of my life, I wrap one of the new towels around my waist and pad into the bedroom. I’m startled to see her standing there.

“Em…” Our eyes meet and lock. My mouth suddenly goes dry.

She works her teeth into her lower lip. “Hi.” Her voice is soft, with a questioning lilt. She doesn’t move from where she’s standing near the bed.

“Hi.” I swallow hard.

The dark hair has turned her eyes to an even deeper, captivating green.

“I like the towels.” My brain is derailed by the way her gaze slowly travels down to my lower half. “And the new furniture is awesome.”

Her gaze lifts back to mine as I ramble nervously.

“I love all the changes you made,” I say. “Everything’s perfect.”

Incredibly, undoubtedly, perfect.

Tears glisten in her eyes. “I was hoping you’d like everything. If you don’t…we can exchange it. I can change it again. Get something you like better.”

Her hesitant tone and the questioning in her eyes aren’t about furniture and decor. It’s about the changes to her.

“I love it all.” I slowly close the space between us. “I wouldn’t change anything.” I reach out and caress her cheek, relieved it feels the same. Her skin is still soft and smooth, fitting perfectly against my palm like it always has. “There’s nothing I’d ever like better.”

“Ash…” Her eyelids flutter closed, and she leans into my hand, melting my heart. “I’m so sorry.”

I rub my thumb across her lips, reveling in their softness. “Please don’t say that. I’m sorry. Last night—”

She touches my hand, gently removes it from her face, but holds on to it. “We don’t have to talk about it.” Her tongue skims across her lip. “I really don’t want to.”

“You don’t have to say anything, but I do.”

Her breath pauses for a beat as she peeks at me from behind long, dark lashes, and her jaw tenses, like she’s preparing for me to continue my tirade from last night.

Silently cursing myself, I push my hair out of my eyes.

“I said some horrible things last night, Em. I’d take them back if I could.”

She holds my gaze, but I catch the quiver of her chin. “It was wrong for me to do that to you. In hindsight, I realize it wasn’t exactly a good surprise for you. You had every right to be upset and mad.”

“No,” I rebut. “I didn’t. Not like that. Seeing you—different—was unexpected, but it doesn’t excuse the things I said or the way I acted. I don’t usually blow up. Or storm out.”

“I know,” she says quietly.

“I think I just snapped. Everything kinda hit me at once. I knew all along something was going on. I just couldn’t put my finger on it.”