The relief in his eyes tells me I got it right. I kiss him again, trying to show him without words that this thing between us is bigger than just physical attraction, bigger than proximity or loneliness or grief bringing two people together.
When we break apart, he traces a finger down my ribs, and I realize he’s looking at my tattoo again. In the dim lamplight, the script might be visible now. My heart starts racing for a different reason.
“What does it say?” he asks, leaning closer to read it.
I catch his hand, bring it to my lips instead, kissing each knuckle. “Just something that meant a lot to me once.”
The truth sits heavy in my throat. They’re his words, from his book.
Some storms are good enough to dance in. Even if they ruin everything in their path.
How do you explain that without sounding like every obsessive fan who shows up at his readings? Without becoming just another person who wants Calvin Midnight the writer instead of Calvin the man? The words stay trapped behind my teeth like the coward I am.
“Mysterious,” he says, apparently deciding to let it go. Hepulls me closer, arranging us so we’re facing each other, legs tangled, breathing the same air. “You’re full of secrets, aren’t you?”
If only he knew.
“I should clean up,” I say eventually.
“Stay here.” He kisses my forehead and gets up, completely unconscious of his nakedness.
I watch him walk to the bathroom, admiring the view. His back is scratched from my nails, red marks across his shoulder blades that will definitely be visible tomorrow. The thought that I marked him, that he’ll carry evidence of this night on his skin, sends a fresh pulse of warmth through me.
He comes back with a warm washcloth and tends to me with surprising gentleness, careful and thorough and somehow making even this feel intimate rather than awkward. The care in his movements, the way he watches my face to make sure I’m comfortable, makes my chest ache in the best way. No one has ever done this for me after. Most men I’ve been with either fell asleep immediately or started looking for their clothes.
“Hey,” he says softly, noticing the emotion that must be showing on my face. “What’s that look?”
I meet his gaze, letting him see the truth in my eyes. “I’m just not used to someone taking care of me. Not like this. Not after.”
“Get used to it,” he says, voice soft but certain, like he’s making a promise. “This is what it’s supposed to be like. What we’re supposed to be like.”
After he tosses the cloth aside, we settle under the covers properly this time, our bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces that were always meant to connect. He pulls me against his chest, and I rest my head over his heart, listening to its steady rhythm slow from exertion to contentment. The rain has softened to a steady patter against the roof, peaceful now, like nature’s own lullaby.
“Maren,” he whispers against my hair.
“Mm?”
“You’re incredible. You know that?”
I smile against his chest. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
His hand finds mine under the covers, fingers interlacing. “I mean it. You’re... you’re everything.”
The words hang between us, heavy with meaning. I squeeze his hand, unable to speak past the emotion in my throat.
“Sleep,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “I’ve got you.”
For the first time in years, maybe since my parents died, I feel truly safe. Not just physically safe, but that bone-deep safety that comes from being completely seen and still completely wanted. The kind of safe that lets you stop bracing for the next loss, the next ending, the next goodbye. The kind of safe that makes you believe in tomorrow again.
I close my eyes and let myself sink into it, into him, into this moment where everything feels possible and nothing needs to be decided except how long we can stay exactly like this. My body feels liquid, boneless, held together only by his arms around me and this new feeling blooming in my chest that might be hope or might be something even more dangerous.
The rain continues its quiet song against the windows. The world outside can wait. Right now, wrapped in Calvin’s arms with our legs tangled and our hearts finally unguarded, I’m exactly where I want to be.
CHAPTER 20
CALVIN
I wake to the feeling of her breath against my chest, warm and steady. Maren’s tucked into my side, one leg thrown over mine, her hair a wild tangle across my shoulder. Morning light filters through the cabin windows, probably close to nine from the angle of it.
