The statement hits me square in the chest. I glance at Elorie, who's watching me with soft eyes and a small smile. "How can you tell?"
"Because you sound like I did when I met Emma. Like someone finally reminded you you're allowed to be happy." Grant's laugh is quiet. "The goats got out again, by the way. Took us two hours to round them up, but they cleared out the brambles we’d been meaning to get to."
Despite everything, I almost smile. "Sounds like you've got it handled."
"Emma’s got it handled,” he corrects. “Someone has to keep this place running." He pauses. "You coming up when you get your next leave? Bring your girl. Emma would love to meet her."
"Maybe."
"That's a no. But the offer stands." His voice softens. "Brooks? Don't run from this. Whatever you're feeling, don't let the past talk you out of it."
The words lodge in my throat. Don't run. The fear is still there, lurking underneath everything else. The certainty that I'll fail her the way I failed Marcus. But looking at Elorie now, trusting me, choosing me, sitting in my kitchen wearing my shirt, the fear feels smaller. Manageable.
"I'm not running," I say and mean it.
"Good. Because from what I'm hearing in your voice, she's worth staying for."
He's right. She is.
We talk for a few more minutes about nothing important: Granitehart Ridge, the weather, Emma's latest project. When we hang up, I set the phone down and kiss Elorie's temple.
"Your brother sounds nice," she says.
"He is. You'd like him." I tilt her chin up so I can see her face. "And he'd like you."
"You think so?"
"I know so." I kiss her softly. "He’s got a brotherhood on the mountain, three other ex-firefighters turned search and rescue like him who all watch out for each other. Everyone's going to like you. Because you're perfect. And you're mine."
She smiles against my mouth. "Yours."
She finishes her coffee and slides off the stool to set the mug in the sink. When she turns, I'm right there. Close enough that hervanilla scent wraps around me, mixing with the lingering scent of coffee and morning.
"I want to take you back to bed," I say, and the confession comes out rough. "But only if you want that too."
Color rises in her cheeks. "I want that."
The words snap the last thread holding me back. I lift her onto the counter in one smooth motion, the same counter where I just made breakfast, where we just ate together like this is normal, like we've been doing this for years instead of days. She gasps at the sudden movement, and I step between her thighs, crowding close.
She's still wearing my shirt. Nothing underneath. The knowledge makes my hands unsteady.
"Last night was about you," I say. "This is still about you. I need you to understand that."
"Brooks—"
"I'm going to worship every inch of your beautiful curves. Show you exactly how much I want you." My hands find her wide hips, thumbs brushing the bare skin where the shirt has ridden up. "And I'm not taking anything for myself. Not yet. Not until you're ready to give it."
Her breathing goes shallow. "Why?"
"Because you deserve to know this isn't just physical for me." I cup her face, forcing her to hold my gaze. "You deserve to understand how much I want you without any pressure to give back. Do you trust me?"
"Yes."
The certainty in her voice undoes me. I kiss her slowly and deeply, pouring everything I can't say into the press of our mouths. She opens for me, her hands sliding into my hair. When I pull back, we're both gasping.
My hands find the hem of the shirt, my shirt on her body. Possessive heat floods my cock, primal and consuming. Mine.She's wearing my clothes, smelling like me, trusting me with her softness.
"Can I?" I ask, fingers curling into the fabric.
