“What’s that?” I ask hesitantly.
“That you’re a good man dealing with a shitty situation.”
I look at her, truly look, and the warmth of her hand around mine feels like something I’ve been starving for. Her touch grounds me to the present instead of spiraling into the past.
“You’re more than I deserve,” I murmur.
“Not true,” she says, squeezing my hand. “You’re just harder on yourself than you need to be.”
Something inside me shifts. I’m not healed or fixed, but for the first time in a long time, I feel understood. Hope’s thumb keeps tracing circles over my knuckles, and I swear it does more to crack me open than anything I just confessed. She studies me for a long moment, then stands. Not abruptly, but with purpose. She walks around the table to sit beside me. Her knee brushes against mine and sends a wave of warmth up my body. My breath catches somewhere between my chest and throat.
“Frost,” she says quietly. “Look at me.”
I do because how the hell am I supposed to resist?
Hope raises her hand and brushes my jaw with her fingers. My entire body responds to the contact like it’s been waiting for it.
“You and your family have been through a traumatic loss,” she murmurs. “You shouldn’t be going through the aftermath alone.”
Hope’s fingers slide from my jaw to my cheek, cupping it softly. I lean into the touch before I can stop myself. Her breath catches just a little, making every muscle in me tighten.
“I’m not good at this,” I tell her, voice low. “Letting people see the mess I’ve become.”
She smiles. “I see you, all of you... and I’m not going anywhere.”
My heart thuds once, hard. Hope’s face is inches from mine now. I can feel the warmth of her breath, smell the faint sweetness of wine and basil still clinging to her skin. Her other hand slides to my forearm, fingers curling around it like she’s anchoring me.
“Frost,” Hope whispers. “You’re allowed to need someone. Even if it’s just for a moment.”
My breath shakes. “I don’t want it to be only for a moment.”
Hope doesn’t seem surprised by my answer and makes no move to pull away. She moves in closer until her thigh is pressed against mine. Her hand slips from my cheek to the back of my neck, eyes flick to my mouth and back up.
“Then don’t make it one,” she murmurs.
That’s all it takes. Hope said the one thing that unravels me. I lift my hand and stroke her hair behind her ear, slowly, giving her time to stop me if she wants. Instead, she leans into it, her lips parting just slightly, her breath trembling in a way that curls heat low in my stomach. I tilt her chin up.
“Hope,” I say because her name feels like something holy in this moment. “Tell me you want this.”
“I want you,” she says.
Something inside me breaks. I close the last inch between us and kiss her. She sighs softly against my mouth, her hands curling into my shirt, pulling me closer. My tongue slides across her lips until she parts them for me. When I trace her jaw, she shivers and leans into me. I wrap my arms around her waist, drawing her close until our bodies are flush with each other. Hope pulls back just enough to rest her forehead against mine, breathing hard.
“Dinner’s getting cold,” she whispers, voice shaky.
“I don’t care.”
She smiles and threads her fingers into my hair. “Good, because I wasn’t done.”
Hope kisses me again more forcefully, and I’m lost in the taste of her, the heat of her, the way she melts against me like she’s been waiting for this moment too.
“You’re sure?” I murmur against her skin.
“I’ve been sure since the moment you walked through my door.”
“If we do this, you’re mine,” I promise. “There won’t be anyone else.”
She pauses. “Yours?”
