For a heartbeat, I forget how to breathe. The weight of his words presses into the air between us, too heavy and too good all at once.
No one has ever said something like that to me—so plain, so certain, without hiding behind half-truths or timing excuses. He justmeansit. And somehow, that makes it even harder to take in.
My chest tightens as his thumb keeps tracing those slow circles against my hand, grounding me while the rest of the world tilts. I can feel every word he just said still echoing in my bones.I want you. No secrets. No hiding.
God help me, I want that, too. I want the coffee, and the rides, and the way he looks at me like I’m something worth chasing. But wanting him feels like standing on the edge of something I don’t know how to keep.
“I still don’t understand how you can make it sound so simple.”
Reece’s hand tightens around mine, just enough to bring my focus back in. His gaze remains patient, confident. “Because it is,” he says softly. “It doesn’t have to be perfect, Kenna. It just has to be real.”
The words hit harder than they should.Real.That’s what this thing between us has always been, even when we were pretending it wasn’t. Even when I was too scared to admit it.
I don’t trust my voice, so I just nod. And when he leans in, brushing his lips against my temple, it feels like there might not be much chasing left for Reece to do.
Chapter 10
McKenna
Two weeks after Christmas, taking down the decorations at Reece's place feels a little like committing a crime.
“Just the garland,” I say, standing on the loveseat to coax a strand off the mantle. “And maybe the extra wreath on the pantry door. Everything else can stay.”
Reece looks up from the storage bin he’s labeling in his tidy block letters. “You told me to be ruthless, Blue.”
“I meant with the half-burnt candles and the tangled light set that tried to electrocute you last week.” I point at the tiny sprig above the hallway. “The mistletoe stays. At least through January.”
His smile is soft enough that it curls my toes in my fuzzy socks. “Wouldn’t dream of touching it.”
Of course he wouldn’t. This is the man who hung mistletoe over his front door, his kitchen arch, and the fan above the couch like a very specific scavenger hunt. Somewhere in town there’s probably a betting pool on how many places he’ll add it next year.
We’ve been in this cozy little loop since Christmas morning—coffee by the fire every morning before the sun comes up, my suitcase still half-unpacked in his bedroom, his flannel shirt “accidentally” ending up around my shoulders when the evening gets chilly. We haven’t put any labels on us, but sometimes certainty doesn’t need one.
I hop down, stuffing a coil of ribbon into the bin and making a face. “You hoard bows like an eighty-year-old Pinterest grandma, Reece.”
“Watch it,” he says mildly, though his eyes are laughing. “Those bows held this town together.”
“Bold claim coming from the man who has declared grilled cheese its own food group.”
“Christmas is a season. Grilled cheese is a lifestyle.”
He pushes to his feet, tucks a marker behind his ear, and reaches for the tape gun. I glance around for the second roll—the one we were definitely using ten minutes ago—and come up empty.
“Did you move the clear tape?” I ask.
“In the hall cabinet, top drawer. Or the laundry room. Or…” He trails off, squinting toward the short hall. “Might be in the… uh…”
My gaze flicks to the door halfway down the hall. The one that’s always, always locked.
Except now the latch sits loose against the frame, like someone meant to turn it and forgot.
I go still.
“Reece?” My voice comes out quieter than intended.
He follows my line of sight. For a heartbeat, his shoulders tense—almost a flinch, almost a shrug. It isn’t shame or embarrassment. More like the tenderness that comes from realizing you’re about to share a thing you’ve kept safe and small for a long time.
“If you’re looking for tape,” he says, “there’s some in there.”
