He didn’t wait for my response. He just turned and walked down the stairs, taking my breath with him. I stood there, stunned, rooted to the floor, trying not to fall apart from the simplest, truest compliment I’d ever been given.
And damn him—damn him—if he wasn’t tearing down every single wall I built around my Toxic Heart.
When I step out of the car, a chill seeps into my bones, and my lips part slightly in surprise. I’d forgotten how modest this place was. Not small, exactly—but simple in a way that made it feel like a warm breath in the chest after being held underwater too long. For someone like Colt, who played in the NFL and made millions, it was… grounding. Honest. Not like Richard’s mansion, where everything sparkled with intimidation and cold excess. This house wasn’t screaming for attention—it felt lived in, like love clung to the walls.
The air nipped at my arms, raising goosebumps, and I instinctively wrapped myself tighter, rubbing warmth into my skin. Nick’s car door thudded shut behind me, and his steps crunched over thegravel. Then his hand slipped into mine—rough, warm, anchoring me.
“Ready, princess?” he said, his voice low, steadying.
God, his eyes. That intense, greedy green locked onto mine like he could see every trembling thought I was trying to keep buried. My lungs tightened. I’d gotten used to keeping people out. But Nick? He was getting in. Slowly, dangerously in.
“Just follow my lead,” he said, and for a second, I forgot why I was scared.
His hair had grown since the first time we met. It fell over his forehead now, softening the sharp angles of his face, making him look less like a soldier and more like a storm you’d want to chase. I reached for something to steady myself.
“Why haven’t you cut your hair?” I asked, the words slipping out too casually as we began walking.
He stopped cold in the driveway. The sudden halt jolted my senses. I blinked at the crowd of parked cars beside the house, suddenly hyperaware of the dozens of eyes we’d soon face.
“Excuse me?” he said, dragging my attention back to him.
“Your hair,” I repeated. “It’s grown a lot. Since the first time I met you. It’s just… odd. For someone like you.”
His gaze narrowed, sharp as a blade. “Someone like me?”
“Yeah,” I said, folding my arms to hide my nervous fidget. “Someone trained to be so clean-cut.”
“You don’t like it?” he asked, but there was mischief in his voice now, like he was toying with the edge of something deeper.
“No. I didn’t say that.”
A grin pulled at his lips. “So you do like it.”
I rolled my eyes and looked away. “Never mind.”
“I’m reinventing myself,” he said. “Besides, that’s part of why I’m growing it out—because I can. I don’t have to cut it anymore. And it gets cold in the winter. This way, I don’t always have to wear a hat.”
We reached the door, and I froze. A wreath stared back at me—golden leaves, mini pumpkins, the artificial warmth of someoneelse’s perfect fall. It mocked the turmoil twisting in my stomach. I stared at the ring on my finger, turning it, pretending I didn’t care. But I did. I cared too damn much. The shine of it caught the light just right, and my chest swelled—then crashed. It wasn’t mine. Not really.
Nick’s future wife would wear it someday. I was just the body keeping it warm.
The door opened. Colt filled the frame with his solid build, a grin already tugging at his face. I hadn’t even stepped inside, and my pulse was thundering in my throat.
“Look who made it late. Not acceptable, soldier.”
“If I didn’t have to stop and pick up more rolls—because apparently, the ones I got weren’t the right ones—we would’ve been here on time,” Nick replied.
“Just messing with ya.” Colt pulled Nick in for a hug, the kind of hug that meant history and brotherhood. I stood there, suddenly cold again, hoping the ring would stay unnoticed. Hoping we could skate by undetected.
“Melanie.” Colt turned to me, warmth radiating off him. “C’mon in. Mi casa es su casa.”
Inside, the smell hit me like a wave. Buttered bread, garlic, rosemary, and pumpkin spice wrapped around my senses like a blanket, easing some of the tightness from my shoulders. Abigail had candles flickering everywhere. It felt like a real home.
“You need to work on your Spanish accent,” Nick said.
“Coming from the guy who has no hint of an Italian accent and he’s half Italian.”
“I don’t try to pretend I’m good at accents.”
