Sam’s almost to the bathroom door when I ask, “Do you think we’re moving too fast?”
He stops.
“What do you mean?”
Sam’s hand lingers on the bathroom doorframe, his bare back tense as he slowly turns to face me. The morning light casts golden lines across his chest, but his eyes are shadowed.
“What do you mean?” he asks again, voice soft but edged with something wary.
I sit up straighter, the sheet clutched to my chest like armor. “Come on. You have to know this is fast.”
He studies me, unmoving. “And?”
I exhale, heart suddenly thudding louder than it should. “And I don’t know about you, but I don’t usually rush into something this intense. Four days, Sam. We’ve known each other for four days.”
His jaw flexes. Not angry. Just processing.
“You think last night was a mistake?” he asks, his tone unreadable.
“No,” I blurt. “God, no. That was—” I break off, shaking my head. “That was everything. But now I’m sitting here wondering what happens when the snow melts. When the roads clear. When I’m not stuck in your house anymore.”
He crosses the room in two long strides, crouching in front of the bed. “Look at me.”
I do.
His gaze is steady. Fierce. Honest.
“You think I don’t know it’s fast? I’ve been out here for months, Charlie, and you—” he lifts a hand, brushing a thumb over my cheek, “you show up like a fucking wildfire. And yeah, it’s fast. But that doesn’t make it wrong.”
I blink, my throat tightening.
“But what if it is?” I whisper. “What if this is just adrenaline and chemistry and all the storm-induced crazy and?—”
“Then we’ll figure that out,” he says, firm now, his voice dipping low. “Together.”
He shifts up onto the edge of the bed beside me, his palm pressing over my hand where it grips the sheet. “You think I’m the kind of man who’d do what we did last night and not mean it?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“I meant every second of it,” he says. “Not just the sex. The holding. The way I looked at you. The way you looked back.” His voice softens. “You think I’d tie you up like that without knowing damn well what it meant?”
Silence stretches between us thick with everything unsaid.
Then he leans in, pressing his lips to mine.
“Let it be fast,” he murmurs. “Let it be wild. And if it burns out in a week or a month or a year, fine. But don’t pull away just because it scares you.”
I nod, tears pricking behind my eyes. “I’m not pulling away.”
His smile returns, quiet and warm. “Good. Because I wasn’t finished with you, darlin’. Not by a long shot.”
I smile, but it feels hollow.
Sam watches me for another second, that unreadable flicker in his gaze. He’s not pushing, not prying. Just seeing me.Reallyseeing me.
“Looks like the sun’s out today,” he says, the words gentle, almost careful. “Might be able to clear the driveway, check the bridge.”
“Okay,” I reply, my voice quiet. Steady. Too steady.
