I sit up slowly, pulling the blanket with me, and look around the living room. The candles have burned low, wax pooled at their bases. The fire is little more than glowing embers now, but the warmth lingers. Everything feels lived-in, like we’ve already made memories here—even though it’s barely been a day.
“Bristol?” he murmurs.
“Yeah?” I look over my shoulder at him.
“I’m really glad you’re here.”
“Me, too.”
For a moment, I let myself imagine tomorrow. And the next day. And the one after that.
No grand plans. Just mornings like this. Coffee. Snow. Shared glances across a room.
I’m not the least bit surprised when the thought doesn’t scare me.
“You know…” I shift and stand only to curl up in Rhett’s lap. “If we’re not careful, I may decide I never want to leave here.”
“I’ll keep you forever, if you’ll let me.”
His confession knocks the breath right out of my chest.
“You don’t mean that.”
He cups my cheeks, his eyes searching mine. “Bristol, honey, I absolutely mean that. I know it’s fast. And if you asked me a week ago, I’d have told you that I didn’t believe in love at first sight, or whatever you want to call this.”
“But now?” I ask, letting myself feel a hope that I tucked away long ago.
“I’d tell you that I’m completely certain thatyouare who I’ve spent my whole life waiting for.”
His words hang between us, fragile and enormous all at once.
I’ve spent years telling myself I don’t need declarations. That I don’t need promises whispered in the dark. That I’m better off without the risk of believing someone could want me this fully, this quickly.
And yet.
My chest aches—not with fear, but with the weight of being seen.
“I don’t know what to do with that,” I admit softly.
Rhett doesn’t smile. He doesn’t tease. He doesn’t try to convince me. Instead, his thumbs brush gentle arcs along my jaw, grounding, patient.
“You don’t have to do anything,” he says. “Not tonight. Not tomorrow. I’m not asking you to jump without a net.”
I swallow, my throat tight. “That’s not how it feels.”
He leans his forehead against mine. “Tell me how it feels.”
“I feel like I finally stopped bracing for the other shoe to drop,” I whisper. “Like, maybe I don’t have to earn being chosen.”
His expression shifts—softens, deepens.
“You were never invisible,” he says. “You just weren’t standing in front of the right person.”
I rest my head against his shoulder, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing.
“I’ve always been the one who leaves,” I confess. “The one who moves on before I’m left behind.”
Rhett’s hand slides slowly up and down my back. “You don’t have to be that here.”
