The cottage comes into view, the glow of the porch light spilling onto the snow. Lexie remains quiet, her head slightly bowed, eyes fixed on the path ahead. She nibbles her bottom lip, worrying it like she does when deep in thought. Her hand is in her pocket, the hint of movement suggesting she’s squeezing her stress ball.
“You okay?” I ask, keeping my tone light.
She startles out of her thoughts as if my voice had caught her by surprise and looks up. “Sorry.”
“No apology necessary, Lex. I was just checking in.”
“I’m okay. Just tired. I haven’t worked in nearly a month. Guess I’ve gotten soft.” She laughs and squeezes my hand, but there’s something behind her eyes that I can’t reach.
I let it go, giving her space. But doubt pulls at my mind like loose threads. Was the ring too much? Did I push too far, too fast?
When we reach her porch, I stop and turn to her. My thumb brushes over her glove, feeling the ridge where the ring sits. I want to ask if I can come in to spend a little more time with her, but I don’t. Not when her energy is already so depleted.
Instead, I step closer, framing her face with my hands, my fingers grazing the apples of her cheeks. “I’ll say good night here and let you get some rest.”
“You don’t mind?”
“No, Lex. We have this weekend together, right?”
“Yes.” Her response is instant. That single word chases away the doubt. “Thank you for tonight. It was fantastic. I couldn’t have asked for a better day.”
“Me either,” I murmur, leaning in to kiss her. Nothing crazy, just enough to connect and hopefully lighten the burden of whatever might be weighing on her.
Lexie’s lips are cold, but inside, her mouth is all sweet, sultry heat.
She hugs my neck, her body bowing against mine. Her long lines and subtle curves make it impossible not to hold her closer. She’s flowers and vanilla—everything good. I want to steep myself in her scent, in her taste, until I’m drenched in it. But I pull back while I still can and scan her beautiful face.
Her glasses are fogged, but as they clear, her rare navy-blue eyes meet mine. Her lips glisten from our kiss, and her cheeks are flushed beneath my fingers. Every detail is another excuse to keep touching her.
“Do you need to warm up before your walk home?” she asks.
I grin, giving her a quick wink. “I’m already warm.”
She gives me thelook—the one that’s supposed to chastise me, but it only makes me smile wider.
“Get some rest, Blue.”
“You too.” Her hands slide from my neck to my chest. “Good night, Chaz.”
A hard rush of love hits me. It started the moment I met her. It was a strange shift in my heart like I’d known her before that day. Now, it’s part of my blood, part of me. But the last thing Lexie needs is pressure. She’s had way too much of that in her life. It doesn’t matter if she falls slower as long as we end up in the same place.
“Night.” I press a kiss to her forehead and watch her go inside. I don’t move until the lock clicks into place, making sure she’s safe before starting down the steps. One last glance back shows her at the window, offering a small smile and a wave before the curtain closes, and she’s gone.
The walk home is contemplative, though my thoughts are interrupted the moment I open the door. Sophia’s energy is like a whirlwind, pulling me in with her enthusiasm. She chatters about the conference and who will be there, names that mean nothing to me. Drew Marshall, an advertising genius, according to my sister, sits at the top of her must-meet list.
She follows me to my room, talking him up before switching to Lexie. She goes on about how well Lex did during her training, and then grills me about our date. Finally, a call pulls her away, leaving me with the quiet I need.
I shower, letting the hot water rain over me. I will it to wash away the lingering feeling that Lexie had something on her mind that she wasn’t telling me.
Afterward, I go down to my studio in bare feet and sweats. My guitar waits, propped against the stool. I pick it up and sit, letting my fingers find the chords of the song I’m writing for her. The melody is already there—soft and intimate, with flashes of heat in all the right places.
Hitting record, I strum, setting the rhythm before adding the words. My thoughts drift to our upcoming days and nights together. They feel crucial, monumental—like the final notes of a song, powerful enough to change everything.
Iget to the café twenty minutes early on Saturday. Chaz opens the door, his hair a halo of curls.
“Morning,” he says, ushering me in from the cold and taking my overnight bag from me.
“Morning,” I reply, purposeful and sure, meeting his gaze with a smile. “Is Jamar here yet?”
