It should have terrified me. A month ago—a week ago—it would have. But lying here in the aftermath, with Samuel’s heartbeat steady against my back and his arm warm around my waist, all I felt was a quiet sort of peace.
I’d figure out the rest tomorrow. The logistics, the geography, the impossible question of how to build something real with someone who lived on the other side of the country.
Tonight, I just wanted to be here. In this bed. With this man. In this moment, that felt, against all odds, like exactly where I was supposed to be.
“Farley?” Samuel’s voice was drowsy, already half-asleep.
“Hmm?”
“I’m glad Purrsephone stole the blankets.”
Chapter Seventeen
Samuel
Iwoke to sunlight streaming through the curtains and Farley’s head on my chest.
For a long moment, I just lay there, cataloging the details. The weight of him against me, and the soft rhythm of his breathing. The way his hand rested over my heart — like it belonged there. Outside, birds were singing, and the cabin smelled like wood smoke, sex, and something that felt dangerously close to happiness.
Purrsephone was curled at the foot of the bed, having apparently forgiven us for the eviction. She’d scratched at the door around dawn, and Farley—soft-hearted Farley, who pretended to be prickly but melted for that cat—had let her back in.
“You’re thinking too loud,” Farley mumbled against my skin.
“I’m not thinking anything.”
“Liar.” He pressed a kiss to my collarbone, then another, working his way up my neck. “What time is it?”
I glanced at the window. “Late morning, maybe? I have no idea. I don’t care.”
“Mmm.” He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at me with sleep-mussed hair and a satisfaction in his eyes that made my chest tight. “Good answer.”
I reached up to trace the line of his jaw, still marveling that I was allowed to touch him like this. That last night had actually happened. That it hadn’t been some fever dream brought on by mountain air and too much isolation.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hi.” His smile was soft, unguarded—nothing like the sharp, defensive Farley I’d first met. “Sleep well?”
“Best sleep I’ve had in years.”
“Flatterer.”
“Truth-teller.” I pulled him in for a kiss, morning breath be damned. He came willingly, melting against me, and I thought: I could get used to this. I could get used to this for a very long time.
We eventually migrated to the kitchen, where Farley made coffee—his precise pour-over method that took forever but produced something transcendent—while I scrambled eggs and tried not to burn the toast. We moved around each other like we’d been doing this for years, as if our bodies already knew how to share space.
I’d abandoned my phone on the nightstand. I hadn’t looked at it since yesterday. Hadn’t wanted to. Whatever was happening in the outside world could wait. This—this bubble, this moment, this man—was all that mattered.
We were just sitting down to eat when someone knocked on the door.
Not a polite knock. A rapid, aggressive pounding that made Purrsephone’s ears flatten against her head.
Farley and I exchanged looks.
“Gladys?” I guessed.
“Who knows?” He was already moving toward the door, and I followed, a prickle of unease crawling up my spine.
Farley opened the door, and my agent Sabrina pushed past him like he wasn’t even there.
