She smiles drowsily. “Miss Ella says I’m a natural.”
I laugh softly. “Miss Ella’s right.”
Her eyes flutter closed. “Today was perfect.”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “It really was.”
She’s asleep within seconds. I stand there a long moment, watching her breathe, letting the quiet settle around me.
When I step outside, Ella is waiting, standing under the moonlight with her hands in the pockets of her jeans, the soft glow of the cabin lights catching the edges of her hair.
She looks up when she hears the door. “Is she asleep?”
“Completely out,” I affirm.
She smiles. “It was a big day.”
“Yeah.” I take a few steps toward her. “For both of us.”
Her breath catches just slightly. “You okay?”
“I’m great,” I admit. “Better than great. I’m… proud. Proud of her. Proud of what you did for her.”
She shakes her head softly. “She did the work. I just helped her along.”
I step closer. “Shiloh.”
Her eyes flick to mine, just a breath, but enough.
“You gave her something that changed her,” I say quietly. “You gave her confidence, joy, and something to look forward to every morning. That was more than helping.”
Her voice drops. “Cole…”
“You gave her a piece of herself she didn’t know she had,” I continue. “And you gave me something too.”
She swallows. “What?”
“Hope.”
The word hangs between us, raw and simple and truer than anything I’ve said in years. She inhales sharply, eyes glistening in the low light. I step closer. Close enough that her breath brushes my shirt. Close enough that the warm Texas night suddenly feels charged with something darker, deeper, hungrier.
I lift my hand, brushing a stray piece of hair from her cheek. Her eyes close at the touch, the smallest exhale slipping past her lips.
“I’ve been wanting to kiss you all damn day,” I whisper.
Her eyes open slowly, heat swirling in the grey. “Then why didn’t you?”
“Because I would’ve lost control,” I say honestly. “And we weren’t in the right place for that.”
“What about now?” she breathes.
“Now?” I lean in just enough that our mouths share the same air. “Now it might be.”
She’s the one who moves first this time. Her hand slides over my shirt, fingers curling into the fabric, pulling me in that last inch. Our lips crash together, slow at first, tasting, savoring, then deeper, hotter, like something inside both of us breaks loose all at once.
I grip her waist and press her into the nearest wall, swallowing the soft sound she makes when her back hits the wood. I drag my mouth down her jaw, her breath shaking against my ear.
“Cole…” she whispers, voice trembling with heat.
