She goes rigid in my arms. Her hands push against my chest, just enough to break the contact. “Stop,” she breathes, the word pained.
She doesn’t pull away fully, though. Instead, she leans her forehead against mine, her breath shaky, and the intimacy of that small gesture is almost worse.
“Vince,” she breathes, shaking her head.
The way she says my name is like a bucket of ice water. Sobering me instantly. She pulls back further, but then just as the panic starts to build in my chest, Ollie brushes my hair outof my face and softly presses her lips to my forehead, and it fractures me.
“Please,” she begs. “You’re grieving. I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret.” Ollie’s voice is barely a whisper, but it cuts through the silence like a blade. Her fingers linger on my cheek for a moment before she pulls away completely and stands up, putting space between us that feels like miles.
“Let's get you home,” she says, her voice gentle but firm as she reaches down to help me up from the ground. The weight of her hand in mine still feels like an anchor, grounding me in the moment. I let her pull me to my feet, my body moving on autopilot as we make our way back down the trail toward the cabin.
The forest around us is alive. It’s peaceful, but my mind is anything but.
I can still taste her on my lips—salt and warmth and something uniquely Ollie. My hands clench into fists at my sides, my knuckles white. I want to reach for her again, to pull her back into me, but I don’t. Because she’s right. This isn’t how I wanted this to happen.
I wanted to tell her when I could show her that this isn’t just grief talking. When I could make her understand that I’ve been in love with her for years. But now, as we walk back to the cabin, the forest closing in around us, I can’t shake the feeling that everything is already changing.
EIGHT
VINCE
I move through the cabin on an autopilot of anxiety, cleaning up the breakfast dishes, changing my shirt, and pouring myself a whiskey. The taste of her won’t leave my mouth.
The pressure of her hands on my chest, pushing me away, scrapes like gravel across my nerves. I could have ruined everything. My only hope hangs on the thread of her lips that pressed against my forehead before we made our way back.
“Vince, stop.” A voice calls to me. “You’re driving yourself crazy.” Kat’s tone is impossibly light.
I stare at my glass. “I kissed her.”
I finally glance over and find her leaning against the counter, arms crossed, a soft smile playing on her lips. “You did. How did it feel?”
“I don’t know. She didn’t kiss me back. Not like she kissed you.”
“That’s a good thing,” she says, her voice warm with understanding. “Ollie did the right thing, Vince. You weren’t in a good headspace for anything to happen out there.”
I exhale, the tension in my shoulders easing just a fraction. “I don’t know what to do now.”
Kat reaches out, her fingers brushing against my arm. “You don’t have to do anything. Not right now.”
I shake my head, the whiskey burning its way down my throat. “I kissed her, Kat. I kissed her when she was trying to comfort me.” The words taste bitter on my tongue. “What if I ruined everything?”
Kat's fingers tighten around my wrist. “You didn’t ruin anything. She stopped you because she cares about you,” Kat says, her voice steady. “Not because she doesn’t want you.”
“How can you be so sure?”
I meet her gaze, searching for the truth in her emerald eyes. Kat smiles, slow and knowing.
“I’m proud that you’re finally being honest with yourself, but I’ve known you were in love the day I met you two.”
I stare at her, the whiskey glass halfway to my lips. “What?”
Kat laughs softly, shaking her head. “Vince, it’s not exactly subtle. I’ve always known how you felt about her. It's one of the things that drew me to both of you in the first place." She pauses, her eyes searching mine.
My heart stutters in my chest as I stare at the fearless certainty in her expression. The world narrows to the freckles dusting her nose, the earnest green of her eyes, this incredible woman offering me a universe I never dared imagine. I close the distance between us, my hands framing her face, and I kiss her with everything I have—all the gratitude, the awe, the sheer, staggering fucking luck of her.
She melts into me, a small sound of relief escaping her throat as her arms loop around my neck.
“I love you,” I say against her lips, the confession finally as full and complete as it deserves to be.
