"Here," he says, handing them to me. "Just in case Tabby needs me in the middle of the night. Wouldn't want you to have to scramble for clothes."
The thoughtfulness of the gesture warms me even more than the afterglow of our sex. This isn't just about tonight—it's about acknowledging a future where I might be here when his daughter wakes up needing him.
I slip into his clothes, the t-shirt hanging almost to my knees, the pants requiring several rolls at the waistband to stay up.
"You look so sexy in my clothes," he says with a lazy smile as he pulls on a pair of pajama pants himself, leaving his chest bare.
We climb into his bed together, Denton pulling back the covers for me. I snuggle up against his warm body, my head finding the perfect spot in the crook of his shoulder.
His arm wraps around me, strong and secure, pulling me closer until there's no space between us. My hand rests on his bare chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my palm.
The weight of his arm around me feels like a shield against all the uncertainties that have been plaguing me—the bakery troubles, Tony Taviani's threats, even my own doubts about whether I deserve this happiness.
"What are you thinking about?" Denton asks softly, his fingers lightly tickling my arm.
"Just how good this feels," I whisper, not wanting to break the peaceful cocoon we've created. "Being here with you."
He presses a kiss to the top of my head. "It does feel good. Right."
The word hangs between us, heavy with meaning. Right. Like pieces falling into place after being jumbled for so long.
"I never thought I'd have this again," he continues. "Not just... sex. But this. Holding someone. Wanting them to stay."
My heart swells at his admission. I reach up and give him a long kiss, not wanting to break the connection.
I finally break the kiss and lean into him, feeling my body surrender to the gentle pull of sleep.
Chapter 23
Denton
There’s a crowd gathered on the sidewalk directly in front of Sugar Rush. Maybe two dozen people, bundled against the cold, holding signs painted in bright letters:SAVE SUGAR RUSH!,TAVIANI = SCROOGE!,WICKER PARK LOVES LOCAL!
And they’re chanting. Not in perfect unison, but with a ragged, determined energy.
“Whose bakery? OUR BAKERY!”
“Whose neighborhood? OUR NEIGHBORHOOD!”
It’s exactly the kind of scene I’ve spent years carefully avoiding. A potential media feeding frenzy waiting to happen. One picture of me in this crowd, and the sports blogs will have a field day.Blake’s Lost His Edge. Star Defenseman Spotted at Anti-Development Rally!My agent would have a minor coronary.
I flex my fingers on the steering wheel of the Rover. Staying in the car feels… wrong. Cowardly. Like leaving the net wide open during a power play because you’re afraid of taking a puck to the face.
Holly told me about this earlier. Her voice had been tired but resolute. “The neighbors… they’re organizing something. Alittle protest. For visibility.” She’d shrugged, a small gesture that didn’t match the fierce light in her eyes. “Probably won’t change anything, but… it feels good not to be fighting alone.”
She hadn’t asked me to come. Not directly. But the look in her eyes, that blend of hope and exhaustion, the quiet plea forsomething… it’s been on my mind ever since.
This isn’t your scene, Blake.The familiar internal voice, the one that sounds like cold logic and self-preservation, tries to reassert control.Drive away. Call her later. Send flowers. But for God’s sake, don’t engage.
But another image flashes: Holly, ankle-deep in icy floodwater. Holly, asleep in my arms, warm and trusting. Holly, transforming my apartment with laughter and the scent of pine, making my daughter’s eyes shine with “sparkly happy.” Makingmefeel… so many things I’m not used to.
Staying away feels like a betrayal. Not just of her, but of this fragile, terrifying new thing we’re building. Of the man I’m trying to become, the one who doesn’t hide behind walls.
I turn off the engine. Taking a deep breath that does nothing to calm the adrenaline suddenly humming in my veins, I push open the car door. I flip the collar of my coat up to ward off the cold air.
Nobody notices me at first. I’m just another guy getting out of a car on a busy city street. I weave through a cluster of people holding signs near the edge of the crowd.
Then I see her.
