I laugh against her mouth and lift her off her feet, carrying her toward the stairs while she wraps her legs around my waist.
"Efficient isn't really my style."
"Then we'll be late to brunch."
"Your sister will be furious."
"My sister just had the wedding of her dreams. She can handle me being fifteen minutes late." Nadia nips at my jaw. "Now stop talking and start convincing."
I carry her up the stairs and into the bedroom and spend the next two hours doing exactly that. Convincing her with my hands and my mouth and my body that this thing between us is worth every risk.
And when we finally make it to the brunch, late and disheveled and grinning like idiots, I catch Gloria's eye across the room.
She looks at her daughter. Looks at me. And nods once, slow and approving.
The future is uncertain. The logistics are complicated. We have a thousand conversations ahead of us and probably a thousand fights too.
But for the first time in eight years, I'm not afraid of what comes next.
I'm ready for it.
CHAPTER NINE
NADIA
Three weeks later, I'm still in Crimson Hollow.
Not because I couldn't leave. Not because I didn't have options. But because somewhere between that first whiskey at The Velvet Antler and the morning Callum convinced me to stay, I realized that the life I thought I wanted wasn't the life I actually needed.
Chicago feels like a different planet now. I flew back once, spent a week packing up my apartment and putting things in storage and having awkward coffee with former coworkers who didn't know what to say to someone who'd been laid off and then disappeared into the mountains with a lumberjack.
The lumberjack in question drove down to help me pack. Spent three days hauling boxes and assembling storage bins and charming my skeptical friends with his dry humor and quiet competence. My best friend Keisha pulled me aside on the second night and said, "Girl, if you don't lock that down, I will."
I'm locking it down. Or trying to, anyway.
Living with Callum is nothing like I expected. He's grumpy in the mornings until his second cup of coffee. He leaves his boots by the door in a way that drives me crazy. He has a specific wayhe likes the dishwasher loaded and gets quietly annoyed when I do it wrong.
But he also makes me breakfast every day. Runs his fingers through my hair while we watch movies on his ridiculously comfortable couch. Pulls me into his lap during conference calls with his brothers just because he wants me close.
And the sex. God, the sex.
We've barely scratched the surface of what's in that playroom, and already he's shown me things about myself I never knew existed. I crave his control now, wait for it, get restless and bratty when too many days pass without him putting me in my place.
He always knows when I need it. Always reads the signs before I even recognize them myself.
But we haven't talked about the future. Not really. Not beyond "let's see where this goes" and "we'll figure it out." The words hang unspoken between us, a conversation we keep circling without ever landing.
Until today.
I'm working at the kitchen island, laptop open, putting together a freelance marketing proposal for a local winery that reached out after hearing about me through Silas. It's not a full-time job, but it's something. A start. A reason to be here that isn't just the man upstairs in his home office reviewing timber contracts.
The front door opens and Callum walks in, earlier than expected. He's been at a meeting with a potential new client all morning, some developer looking to source sustainable wood for a luxury resort project.
"You're back early." I don't look up from my screen. "How'd it go?"
"It went." He crosses to the kitchen and pours himself a glass of water. "I need to talk to you about something."
My stomach drops. Nothing good ever follows those words.
