Font Size:

“Good?”

“It's perfect.” She takes another bite, then looks at me. “Thank you. For this. For the bath. For taking care of me.”

“Piper…”

“I mean it.” She sets down the toast. “I ran out into a blizzard like an idiot. You could have left me out there. But you didn't.”

“Of course I didn't.”

“Why?”

The question hangs between us. Why did I chase her? Why do I care? Why can't I stop thinking about her, wanting her, needing her?

“Because,” I say simply. “Just because.”

She stands carefully. Takes a step toward me.

Then, she kisses me.

It’s soft and fucking devastating. Her hands come up to cup my face, and I'm frozen for half a second before I kiss her back.

This kiss is different. Sweeter. Slower. Like she's asking a question and I'm giving her the answer.

My hands find her waist, pulling her closer. She makes a small sound against my mouth and I deepen the kiss, tasting cinnamon and sugar on her lips.

But then she sways slightly, and reality crashes back.

I pull away, steadying her. “We need to be careful. You’re hurt.”

“I'm fine.”

“You hit your head.” I brush her hair back from her face, checking her pupils again.

She looks up at me. “Then just... hold me. Please.”

How am I supposed to say no to that?

I glance at the window. The sky is starting to lighten, a pale gray that comes before dawn. It's almost four in the morning. We should sleep.

“Come on.” I take her hand, leading her toward the bedroom. “I'm not letting you sleep alone after a head injury.”

“So concerned for my wellbeing,” she teases.

“Someone has to be.” I pull back the covers. “Get in.”

I settle beside her, keeping space between us so she can heal.

She immediately closes that distance, pressing against me, her head on my chest. Her hand over my heart.

“Is this okay?” she whispers.

No. This is dangerous, playing with fire. Everything I shouldn't want and can't resist.

“Yeah,” I say instead. “This is okay.”

We lie there in the growing light. Her breathing slows, evens out. I think she's fallen asleep when her fingers start tracing patterns on my chest.

“Callum?”