“You know, for someone so bad at breaking and entering,” Charlie said without turning, his voice a soft rasp, “You sure make a habit of it.”
He turned then, setting the charcoal down on the stool beside him. The lamplight caught the edge of his jaw and the curve of his mouth. His eyes landed on me—standing barefoot by the door, in nothing but one of his t-shirts he’d left upstairs.
The softness in his expression melted away, replaced by a heavier heat that settled between us. He took a step closer, slow enough for the boards beneath him to protest.
His eyes traced the length of me, lingering, returning to my face with a kind of hunger he didn’t bother to hide. His jaw tensed, the only betrayal of what he was trying not to say.
“Lucky for you,” he said, voice lower then, rougher, “I’ve stopped locking the door.”
I didn’t speak. I couldn’t. My chest was too tight, my heart thudding loud enough I swore it echoed off the studio walls. Maybe I didn’t need him to ask me to stay. Perhaps the words would never find their way to my heart. But maybe our hands would once again say all the things we’d left unsaid between us.
He crossed the room with careful steps, eyes locked on mine, searching for hesitation.
There wasn’t any, not tonight.
I reached for him first, pressing my hands to his chest, warm and solid under my palms. And then he kissed me.
It wasn’t tentative or slow this time. It was desperate. Familiar. Deep. A kiss that knew everything we’d been through to get here and didn’t give a damn about anything butthis.
His hands gripped my waist, pulling me against him, and my fingers curled into his shoulders, anchoring myself there, in the only place I wanted to be.
When he pulled back, his breath caught. “Tell me you’re sure. Tell me you want this. You want me again.”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” I whispered.
His mouth found mine once more, softer now, more reverent, and then we were moving. He guided me back toward the hallway where I knew his narrow bed sat tucked behind the curtain, our bodies brushing furniture and canvases as we went, our lips never leaving one another’s.
I tugged at the waistband of his jeans, and he peeled the shirt from my body, a slow lift of the fabric that inched carefully across my body, sending sparks of desire coursing through my veins.
We fell into the mattress in a tangle of limbs and want, the whole world narrowing down to the weight of his body, the heat of his skin, the way his hand found my belly, eyes searching mine with a hold that felt dangerously close to hope. That this moment—this fragile, impossible moment between the two of us and the shadow of the three we could become—changed things.
And it did. God, it did. I knew I’d carry it with me long after the sheets cooled, long after his voice faded from the quiet corners of my memory. This wasn’t just another night. It was an ache I’d feel forever. A mark I’d never be free of, even if I tried.
We moved in sync this time. No rush. No frantic edge. Only that quiet, consuming tenderness that made every kiss, every whispered breath of my name, feel like both a promise and a farewell.
There was no doubt anymore. I loved him. Completely. Recklessly. Irrevocably.
And maybe that was the problem. Love wasn’t enough to anchor me to this shore.
We stayed tangled, skin slick and breathing uneven, the room so still it felt like even the Christmas lights outside were holding their glow for us. He didn’t speak, and neither did I. We didn’t need to.
He’d fallen asleep with one arm tucked under his head and the other curled around me, his hand resting over my belly in a way that wasn’t protective but possessive, like he already saw the two of us as his to claim.
I wanted to stay in that moment. Goddamnit, I wanted to. To let myself believe I’d finally landed somewhere solid. That this bed, this man, this city could be mine.
But my mind wouldn’t stop. It never did. Doyle’s words still rang in my ears—too loud, too messy, too much for him and Jordan to manage. He’d as good as told me to go home, to let our parents “handle” me. And maybe he was right.
On my doorstep were three things that would alter the course of my life.
A child who deserved a mother who could give them stability without flinching.
A business, still nothing more than scribbled plans and favors from strangers.
And a man—this man—who I knew would lay his life down for me and this baby without a second thought.
But what if I couldn’t be the woman who stayed? What if I broke under the weight of all three?
Because that’s where I always got it wrong, things would land in my hands and, instead of holding on, I’d open my palm, watch them scatter, and call it fate. I’d tell myself I was better off. Safer. Alone.
