TheLast Hope Innis warm and dim at this hour, lit only by a lamp on the front desk and the glow of the Christmas tree in the corner. A few ornaments glint gold and red as the lights flicker softly.
Reid doesn’t stop walking until we’re both in the center of the room. Then he turns to face me as he shrugs off his jacket. For a moment, he just looks. Really looks. Like he’s memorizing all the little details about me. Then he drapes the jacket over my shoulders. It’s warm from his body heat and it smells like motor oil. I snuggle into it, grateful for the warmth.
“I need you to hear something,” he says finally, voice low and steady.
My hands knot together in front of me. The edges of his nails are black from engine grease, and he has callouses on everyfinger. A working man’s hands. The hands of a man I can trust to be honest.
“Okay.”
He steps closer, slow and sure. The tension rolling off him isn’t anger, it's resolve.
“You said long distance never works,” he begins. “You said people leave, they drift, they give up when things get hard.” He shakes his head. “That’s not me. And that’s not us.”
My breath stutters.
“Reid, I—”
“No,” he interrupts gently, but firmly. “Let me finish.”
He waits, letting the air settle between us. Letting me see the truth in his eyes before he speaks again.
“I woke up this morning knowing one thing for damn sure. I’m not letting what we have die before it ever gets the chance to live.”
A tremor runs through me, shock, relief, longing all tangled together.
“We’re both heading to Colorado,” he continues. “This isn’t some holiday fling that ends when the snow melts. I don’t want a memory, Jodi. I want a future with you.”
I press my hand to my mouth because the emotion hits too fast, too deep.
He steps right into my space then, his hands finding mine, warm and solid around my cold fingers.
“And I’m not letting you make that drive alone,” he says. “Your car isn’t getting out of this town. But my truck will.”
His thumb strokes over my knuckles.
“So, here’s what we’re going to do. You and me? We’re driving to Crescent Ridge together.”
My heart stops.
“Together?” I whisper.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “Together.”
Tears burn my eyes, but not the bad kind. The kind that makes my heart feel like it’s going to grow wings and burst out of my chest with joy.
“There’s a catch,” he adds.
My laugh breaks through my tears.
“Of course there is.”
“You’re going to introduce me to your family as your boyfriend.”
His other hand comes up, cupping my cheek. The calluses on his thumbs and palms are rough but they’re also warm, and grounding.
“I want you,” he says. “Not for a night. Not for a few stolen days. I want all of it. I want to meet your parents. I want to see your hometown. I want to know what your life looks like when I’m in it.”
My knees nearly buckle. He leans in until our foreheads touch.
