“I just—” She takes a shaky breath. “The cabin was... it was heat. Biology. And this is...” She gestures between us. “I want this to be different. I want to know it’s real.”
I understand. More than she knows.
“It’s real.” I kiss her forehead, her cheekbone, the corner of her mouth. “This is real. And we have all the time you need.”
“Even if I need a lot of time?”
“Tessa.” I pull back to look at her properly. Make sure she can see my face, read the truth in it. “I’ve waited three years. I can wait longer. However long you need. I’m not going anywhere.”
Her eyes go shiny again. She blinks rapidly, fighting it, and I love that about her. The way she fights for control even when she’s falling apart. The way she battles her own emotions like they’re an opponent to be defeated.
Someday, I’ll teach her she doesn’t have to fight. That it’s okay to fall apart with us. That we’ll be there to put her back together.
But that’s a lesson for another night.
“Okay.” She takes a breath, steadying herself. “Okay. We go slow.”
“We go slow.” I reluctantly slide my hands out from under her sweater, letting them rest on her waist instead. Safe territory. Mostly. “But I reserve the right to kiss you stupid whenever possible.”
She laughs—bright and surprised—and I feel it in my chest. A loosening. A homecoming.
“That seems fair.”
“It’s only reasonable.” I kiss her once more, slow and sweet. “Come on. It’s getting late. I should get you home.”
She glances around the workshop, taking in the burned-down candles, the abandoned carving tools, the meal we never quite finished. “We didn’t finish the bowl.”
“Next time.” I help her down from the workbench, keeping hold of her hand because I’m not ready to stop touching her yet. “You can come back. Whenever you want. Finish what we started.”
The double meaning hangs in the air between us.
She squeezes my hand. “I’d like that.”
I walkher to her car because I can’t let go of her yet.
The cold hits us the moment we step outside—that bone-deep Montana winter that makes your lungs ache. Snow blankets everything, glittering under the stars. Our boots crunchthrough the frozen crust, and our breath fogs in the air, mingling together before it dissipates into the night.
She’s shivering before we make it halfway to her car, hugging her arms around herself. The cream sweater isn’t meant for standing around in fifteen-degree weather.
“You’re cold,” I observe.
“I’m fine.”
“Your teeth are chattering.”
“That’s just... enthusiasm. For the night air.”
I snort and pull off my henley before I can think better of it. The cold bites into my bare arms immediately, but I don’t care. I drape it over her shoulders, still warm from my body heat.
“Elijah, you’ll freeze?—”
“I’m fine.” I tug the fabric closer around her. “Get in. Ben fixed the seat warmers.”
“Ben fixed my seat warmers?”
“Last week. When he brought your car back.” I shrug. “He’s been doing stuff like that for years. Half your maintenance bills are things he did for free.”
Her mouth drops open. “Hewhat?”
