Tomorrow, I’ll talk to Tiffany about the secretary job.
Tomorrow, I’ll call the property manager and put the cabin on short-term rental sites.
Tomorrow, I’ll start fresh.
But tonight?
Tonight I lie in Tony’s arms, wrapped in a warmth I never thought I’d find again, knowing exactly what comes next.
A life that’s mine.
A love that’s his.
And a path we walk together without trying to own each other.
Just choosing.
One day at a time.
Twenty-Two
Stud
I always thought “domestic” was a dirty word.
Not because I hated it.
Because it wasn’t meant for men like me.
Men who bury their wives too young.
Men who raise their daughters half in a garage and half in a motorcycle clubhouse.
Men who sleep better with something dangerous within reach.
Men who live with the knowledge that everything they care about can be stolen in a heartbeat.
I learned a long time ago:
Comfort is a trap.
Softness is a weakness.
Home is something you have to constantly defend or lose.
And then Holley happens to me.
Not all at once.
Not with fireworks or lightning bolts.
But slowly—like someone opening a window in a room I didn’t realize I’d sealed shut.
And now, three weeks after the kidnapping, I’m looking around my kitchen at eight in the morning watching her stand barefoot in one of my old t-shirts, hair up in a messy bun, humming some song I don’t know while she makes coffe …and I’m ruined.
Absolutely done for.
She opens a cabinet and frowns. “Tony? Why are your mugs on the top shelf? How tall do you think you are?”
