“Sleep well, baby girl. Dream all the dreams for tomorrow is ours,” he whispers, lips brushing my temple, lingering like a promise I never want to let go. I melt fully, letting the heat of him consume me, letting grief and desire coil together into something exquisite, dangerous, and alive.
I think of her garden, my sanctuary, my sorrow, my light, my tears. And for the first time, I let that world fade, replaced with the gravity of him, the pull of warmth, of strength, of something unrelentingly dangerous and tender all at once.
His fingers lace through mine beneath the sheets, his breath warm against my hair, his scent, the intoxicating mix of him, wrapping around me, and I let go. Completely.
And as sleep curls around me, as darkness and desire coil together, I know this: the grief, the lust, the danger, the love, they are all tangled together, and I want it all. I want him. Every inch, every whisper, every shadowed heartbeat of him. I ache for it. I ache for him.
Waking to the orange hush of a new day, I blink against the morning light as it melts across the room like spilled honey. It kisses the sheets, spills over his bare chest, and pools in the dimple of his smile. Dane watches me with that slow, easy gaze like I’m something to be savoured, not rushed.
“Hi,” he mouths, voice still wrapped in sleep.
I rub the sleep from my eyes, suddenly hyper-aware of how wrecked I probably look, tangled hair, blotchy pillow-creased skin, breath like something feral. “Hi,” I mouth back, cheeks heating as he props himself up on one elbow, resting his cheek on the heel of his hand like I’m the only view he needs.
“Sleep well?”
I nod, catching my bottom lip between my teeth.
I notice his eyes again. Were they green? Blue? No, both. A storm-soaked jade tangled with sea glass and streaks of gold. They remind me of rainforest reflections in flood puddles afterthe monsoon. The way light bends through dew on leaves at noon, when the sky breaks open and the sun demands to be seen. It’s a colour you don’t forget. It’s the colour of being seen.
“Penn,” he says, voice low and velvet soft. His fingers reach for me, touch feather-light beneath my ear as he cups my neck, pulling me into the gravity of him.
“Yes,” I answer, a small smile curving my lips embarrassed and oddly pleased, aware I’ll have delightful morning breath. Dane bites his lip and smirks, those dark eyes searching mine like they’re trying to memorize the shape of me. Lightning snaps behind my ribs, a thousand little sunbursts exploding where heat gathers between us. I drag the covers up over my face, hiding the grin that threatens to break me open waking to this man and not alone in a house that hasn’t felt like mine in months is a small, ridiculous miracle. Nightmares and tears didn’t pull me awake for once, and that surprises me more than anything.
“Hey, don’t hide from me.” His voice is soft, amused. He peels the blanket down, fingers brushing strands of hair from my eyes and cheek so he can actually see me. He tucks them behind my ear, his touch small and reverent. “I’m so stoked you woke up here, Penn. There’s nothing wrong with that. Fuck I’ve never slept as peacefully as I did last night holding your hand. And Penn, that’s saying something.”
Goosebumps ripple in little waves over my skin. Dane does something inside me I haven’t learned to name yet, something equal parts danger and sanctuary. “To be honest,” he says, “it was the first time I didn’t wake in a cold sweat or with tears streaming like a river.” He smiles at me, that crooked, honest smile, and I return one, small and nervous. “You make me nervous. It’s all the little things you do and say.”
He inches closer, heat like a tide rolling over me. I feel him solid, real pressed against my thigh, and my body trembles, though I try not to. “Like?” he asks, one eyebrow arched.
“It’s the little things,” I whisper. “Like twisting my hair around your fingers.” He lifts my hand and wraps my hair gently around one long finger, slow and careful. My pulse stutters.
“It’s the small touches your fingertips on my skin.” His other hand finds the underside of my bottom lip and traces it, feather light, as if committing it to memory. “It’s the way you make me smile.” He winks, and something inside me unravels like a spool of thread; I feel exposed and safe at once.
“So, this is slowly breaking your walls down then, Penn?” He breathes the question, as if asking permission to keep going. I inhale, taste of him thick in the air, so close I could drown.
I try to explain the tumble I fell from how it felt like being cast off a cloud and slamming into the hard, jagged ground of myself. “I just don’t know what I should do,” I admit. “I don’t like the pain I feel from falling. I—” My voice cracks, and I hate that anything of me looks fragile.
Dane wraps his arms around me then, wide and certain, and I feel his heartbeat steady against my back. “I will wait right here,” he says, all quiet conviction. “When you want to try and fall into me, know I’ll catch you. Once you’re mine, Penn, I won’t let you fall anymore.” The honesty in his voice knocks the breath out of me. It isn’t extravagant; it’s a bone-deep promise, and something within me leans toward it like a plant toward light.
“Why?” I ask, more afraid than I let on afraid he isn’t real, that this isn’t the kind of music that becomes a forever song. Afraid this fairytale I tuck into at night for my little girl, moonlight silver and full of impossible endings, will dissolve when morning hits.
“Because why not.” He shrugs like it’s the most obvious answer in the world, and the simplicity of it makes no sense and all the sense at once. His laugh softens the edges of the question, and I find I love the nonchalance that sits beside his depth.
“Come on, let’s go for breakfast.” He peels the blankets from us both, and the cool morning air rushes over my heated skin. I giggle small and helpless at the sudden contrast. He leaps from the bed, track pants long gone, boxers clinging to toned, tattooed thighs; his shirt is a soft, crumpled relic of sleep. He moves through the room like he belongs here already, like this house is an extension of the safety he promised.
“Your clothes are washed and folded on the drawers in my wardrobe,” he calls over his shoulder, a whistle in his voice as he pads toward the bathroom. There’s a domesticity to the claim that makes my heart stutter again ordinary, ridiculous, perfect.
I sit up, letting the sunlight warm my spine, and for once, I don’t push away the thought that maybe, maybe I can try to fall. Maybe I can let the cloud hold me this time.
Sitting in the small café with Dane, the world outside sounds like it’s underwater muffled, far-off, unreal.
Morning light fractures through the tall windows, gold dust settling on his hands, on the steam between us, on the soft tremble of hope I keep swallowing down.
His fingers skim mine across the table. A whisper of touch. He stops when his thumb grazes the thin gold of my wedding band.
A flicker of something crosses his face grief, maybe. Recognition. Restraint.
I look down at the rings. Symbols of a life that had already burned to ash.
