68
Retreat
Thestormhadlongpassed, leaving only the soft hum of water dripping from the eaves and the heavy stillness that follows something wild. Jaxon made his way upstairs to shower. As he reached the top step, Jaqueline reached up and hugged him—small arms, big heart—then disappeared into her room. Sara followed behind to tuck her in.
Jaxon wandered to the living room to watch TV before bed, but his mind wasn’t on the screen.
She knew. She knew exactly what I meant on the porch. That storm wasn’t just wind and thunder—it was her. And when she came over to sit with me, laid her head on my shoulder, took my hand and placed it on her bare skin… God. That wasn’t just affection. That was trust. That was something deeper. The last time I had someone out there watching the storm with me, it was Claire… and she got up and left halfway through—bored, annoyed, done. But Sara? She stayed. She saw the same kind of beauty in the storm that I did.
He didn’t realize he was smiling until he heard soft footsteps on the stairs.
“What are we watching?”
“We?”
“Yeah, if you don’t mind me watching with you.”
“I don’t mind at all,” he said, holding out the remote. “We can watch whatever you want. Do you want anything to drink?”
“Water, please.”
Jaxon headed to the kitchen, grabbed two bottles, and popped a bag of popcorn. A few minutes later, he returned to the couch.
“Really? You didn’t bring me any?” Sara teased, raising a brow.
“You want some? I’ll get you a bowl.”
“No, I’ll get it myself.”
But instead of going to the kitchen, she made her way to the other end of the couch—where he sat. She reached into the bag he held and plucked out a single piece.
“I don’t need a bowl.”
“You got up for one piece? I could’ve tossed it to you.”
“No. I got up to come over here and sit with you. Is that okay?”
Jaxon smiled—soft, disarmed, entirely hers in that moment. “You can sit with me anytime you want.”
“That’s good to know,” she whispered, settling in beside him.
Sara pressed play, curled her legs beneath her, and leaned into him. Every so often, she reached over for popcorn, brushing against him—light touches that somehow carried weight. Each one made his pulse race, made him wonder if she could feel the way the room was spinning around her.
Halfway through, the popcorn long gone, she shifted. Her head came to rest on his chest. Her arm looped through his. She grabbed his hand and once again placed it on her side.
But this time—skin. Bare. Warm. His hand landed against the smooth curve of her waist where her shirt had lifted slightly. His breath caught, and instinctively, he pulled back.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, moving his hand.
“It’s fine, Jax,” she said softly, then reached for his hand and placed it right back where it had been—like it belonged there.
His fingers brushed over her skin slowly, tracing small, thoughtless circles. But they weren’t thoughtless. Not to her. And not to him. The way he touched her wasn’t lust—it was reverence. It was everything he didn’t say out loud.
She noticed something strange. He hadn’t made a move. Not once. His hand never wandered. He didn’t push for more. He just… held her. Like she was enough. Like this—this—was everything.
And it shattered her.
Forty-five minutes passed. The movie ended. The room filled with the soft hush of credits. Jaxon reached for the remote, assuming she’d fallen asleep.
