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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?”