He lay across from her, a scarred yet gentle hand running down her windburned cheek. She hummed a low response, inching closer to him with half open eyes. She pulled her knees up to her chest, muttering a quiet “I love you” before drifting off into a contented rest. He smiled softly and kept rubbing her cheek. Rolling over onto his back, he twirled a strand of curly brown hair around a finger, staring up at the ceiling with a peaceful expression.

How odd, he thought. That even on such an important night she still refused to wear a dress. Then again, he knew who he was talking about. And she hated anything to do with being even the slightest bit girly. This brought a quiet chuckle past his lips, and his smile broadened. Sure they’d had some very tough times in the past. Both suffered horrible mental and physical scarring, leaving one incapacitated and the other hopelessly scrambling to pick up the pieces at times. But yet, they remained.

“I love you, Autumn Cosgrove.”

“Hastings,” she corrected sleepily.