"Not for you. Because of you. There's a difference." His grip tightened on my hand. "I turned down a contract, Jason. My agent is furious, my publisher thinks I've lost my mind, and I have no idea what I'm doing next. But for the first time in years, I'm not drowning. I'm choosing myself. And yeah, coming here? That part's about you."
My throat went tight. "No pressure."
"All the pressure." But he was smiling, and when he looked at me the intensity in his eyes made my pulse skip. "I'm terrified this won't work. That I'll get to Juniper Bluff and realizeI romanticized everything. That you'll realize I'm a mess and regret ever—"
"I won't." I squeezed his hand. "I know we'll figure it out. I'm sure of it."
We drove in silence for a while, but it wasn't comfortable—it was charged, electric, five days of separation and desperation humming between us like a live wire. Every time his thumb moved against my hand, every time I glanced over and caught him watching me with dark eyes, the tension ratcheted higher.
The highway cut through the mountains as the sun sank lower, and Christmas lights began to blink on in the houses we passed. Some were tasteful strings of white along rooflines. Others were gloriously over-the-top—inflatable Santas competing with light-up reindeer, one ambitious display featuring what looked like the entire cast of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer synchronized to music I could see but not hear.
"Colorado goes hard on Christmas," Brent observed, his voice slightly strained.
"Wait until you see Juniper Bluff. The whole town looks like it fell out of a Hallmark movie." I shifted in my seat, trying to ease the building tension. "How far did you tell people you were going?"
"Cassandra knows I'm in Colorado. She's not speaking to me." His hand tightened on mine. "Everyone else... I didn't really tell anyone. There's no one to tell."
The loneliness in that admission made my chest ache. "Well, you've got people now. My friends are dying to meet you.”
"Looking forward to it. I think." He was quiet for a moment, then: "How far to Juniper Bluff?"
"About forty minutes now." I swallowed. "Why?"
"Because I've been thinking about touching you for five days straight and it's taking all my control not to beg you pullover right now." His voice had dropped lower, rougher. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to sit here and just hold your hand when what I want is to get my mouth on you?"
Heat flooded through me, my face burning. "Brent—"
"I know. We're on a highway. It's not even dark yet. I'm trying to be civilized." His hand moved to my thigh, palm hot even through my jeans. "But it's been days since I've touched you. Since that last morning at the lodge? That's been playing on repeat in my head."
My breathing went shallow. "Same."
"Yeah?" His hand slid higher, fingers pressing into the muscle of my inner thigh. "What have you been thinking about?"
"Brent." But my voice came out breathy, unconvincing. "You're not helping."
"I don't want to help. I want to get you alone." He brought our joined hands to his mouth and sucked my index finger between his lips, tongue swirling around the tip, and I nearly swerved into the next lane.
"Jesus—you can't—"
"Can't what?" He released my finger with an obscene pop. "Can't tell you I've been dying to taste you again?" His hand tightened on my thigh. "Can't say I want to take you apart the second we're alone?"
"Fuck." I was half-hard already, shifting uncomfortably. The car behind us laid on the horn because I'd slowed to fifty. "You're going to kill me before we even get home."
"Home," he repeated softly, and something shifted in his expression. "I really like the sound of that."
The rest of the drive was sweet torture. Brent kept finding ways to touch me—his hand on my thigh, burning hot. His fingers tracing patterns on my wrist that made goosebumps rise. His thumb brushing the sensitive skin on the inside of my elbow.Every casual touch felt intentional, deliberate, and designed to drive me out of my mind.
By the time we made it into town, full darkness had fallen and the town was ablaze with Christmas lights. The massive spruce in the town square glowed like a beacon, visible from blocks away. Every shop window on Main Street held an illuminated display. Garland wrapped around every lamppost, white lights spiraling up toward the stars.
"Wow," Brent breathed, leaning forward to look. "You weren't kidding about Hallmark movie."
"Wait until you see my neighbor." I turned onto Oak Street, where the houses sat close together, each one trying to out-decorate the last. "There."
I pointed to the cottage next to mine.
"That's... enthusiastic," Brent said.
I pulled into my driveway, where my own cottage sat in relative darkness—just the porch light on, and the small wreath visible on my door. "I'm a little less festive."
