It had been five days since the retreat ended. Five days of texts and phone calls and increasingly desperate late-night conversations that always ended with both of us breathless and aching. Five days of missing someone so intensely it felt like a physical wound—a constant pressure behind my ribs, a hollow space where his warmth should be.
And now he was coming back. Because he'd walked away from a seven-figure deal and decided Colorado—decided I—mattered more than his New York life.
The weight of that decision terrified me almost as much as it thrilled me.
I parked in the cell phone lot and checked my phone for the hundredth time. His plane had landed twenty minutes ago. Any moment now, he'd text that he had his luggage and was heading to arrivals.
Through my windshield, I could see the terminal lit up for the holidays—massive wreaths hung between the support columns, garland wrapped around every light post, a giant inflatable snowman visible near the main entrance. Holiday travelers streamed in and out with shopping bags and wrapped packages.
My phone buzzed:Got my bag. Heading to pickup now. I can't believe I'm actually here.
My heart kicked against my ribs.I can't believe it either. See you in 5.
I pulled out of the lot, navigating the maze of airport roads with my pulse hammering in my ears. This was real. This was happening. Brent had left his entire life behind to—what? See if we could work? See if I was worth the risk?
No pressure or anything.
The pickup area was chaos—cars jockeying for position, people hugging on the curbs, a shuttle bus blaring its horn at someone double-parked. "Jingle Bell Rock" played from somewhere, competing with engine noise and shouted greetings.
I spotted him immediately when I pulled up to the curb.
He was standing under one of the massive wreaths with a large rolling suitcase and a leather messenger bag slung across his chest, scanning the line of cars with an expression caught between anticipation and nerves. His dark hair was slightlymussed from the flight, and he was wearing jeans and a henley layered under a wool coat—casual Brent, not bestselling author B.L. Cross. The December wind ruffled his hair, and even from inside the car I could see him shivering slightly in the late afternoon cold.
He looked perfect.
Our eyes met through the windshield and his entire face transformed. The smile that broke across his features was so genuine, so relieved, so full of unguarded joy that my chest cracked open.
I threw the car into park and got out, not caring that I was blocking traffic or that the car behind me was honking.
"Hi," I said when I reached him, the word coming out rough and inadequate for everything I was feeling.
"Hi." He dropped his messenger bag and pulled me into a kiss that made my knees weak. Right there on the sidewalk with cars honking and people streaming past us and the shuttle bus driver yelling at someone. His hands cupped my face, cold fingers against my skin, and I gripped his coat and for five perfect seconds, nothing else existed.
When we finally broke apart, both breathless, frost forming in the air between us, he rested his forehead against mine.
"I missed you," he said, voice rough and low. "So fucking much."
"I missed you too." I kissed him again, softer this time, tasting coffee and airplane air and Brent. "Come on, we should move before we cause an accident."
We loaded his suitcase into my trunk—heavier than I expected, packed for more than just a visit—and then he was in my passenger seat, and this was real. Brent was here. In Colorado. In my car. Looking at me like I was the reason he'd crossed the country.
I pulled back into traffic, heading for the highway, overly aware of his presence beside me. The way he kept glancing over. The way his knee bounced slightly with nervous energy.
"So," he said as I merged onto I-70 west. "I'm here."
"You're here." The sun was already starting to sink behind the mountains ahead, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. "How was the flight?"
"Long. Crowded. Full of families traveling." He reached over and laced his fingers through mine on the console between us, and the contact sent electricity up my arm. "I watched two rom-coms and stress-ate an entire bag of pretzels."
"Romantic."
"Hey, one of them was good. Very emotional airport reunion scene." His thumb traced circles on the back of my hand. "Though I think ours was better."
Heat climbed my neck. "We did cause a minor traffic incident."
"Worth it." He lifted our joined hands and kissed my knuckles, and the feel of his lips on my skin made warmth pool low in my belly. "How are you? Really?"
"Terrified and excited in equal measure." I glanced over at him, at the way the late afternoon sun caught in his hair. "You just blew up your entire career. For me."
