"Goodnight."
I hear her breathing slow, hear the soft sounds of her shifting into sleep, and I lie awake in the dark, hyperaware of every inch of space between us.
She's right there. Warm and soft and trusting, and all I'd have to do is reach out.
But I don't because I'm terrified.
Terrified that if I let myself have this I won't be able to let go when she leaves. Terrified that I've already lost the war I thought I was winning.
The wind howls, the cabin creaks, and I lie awake staring into the darkness.
Chapter 5 – Demi
I wake to the sound of nothing.
The fire has died down to embers, casting a faint orange glow that barely reaches the edges of the room. Everything is dark and warm and close.
And Joseph is right there.
I feel him before I'm fully awake—the heat of his body beside me, the way the mattress dips slightly toward his weight, the rhythm of his breathing slow and steady in the darkness.
We're not touching, but we might as well be. The space between us is so small it feels like it has its own gravity, pulling me toward him even as I lie perfectly still.
My heart is already beating faster.
I remember the almost-kiss. The way he leaned in, the way his eyes dropped to my mouth, the way the air between us felt charged. And then the way he pulled back, like he was stopping himself from falling off a cliff.
I saw the conflict in his face, the want and the fear tangled up so tightly he couldn't separate them.
But I'm not afraid.
I know what I want. I've known since the moment I walked into this cabin and found him standing there, all broad shoulders and rough edges and careful restraint. I've known since he cooked for me, since he wrapped me in his shirt, since he told me about the woman who left and the solitude he chose instead of risking that pain again.
I want him.
Not just his body, though God, I want that too.
I want him to want me back. Fully. Without hesitation. Without fear.
I shift slightly under the blankets, testing the silence, and my hand brushes against his arm. His skin is warm, the muscle beneath firm and unyielding. Even that small contact sends a shiver through me.
He doesn't move, but his breathing changes. Deepens. Catches for just a second before evening out again.
He's awake.
"Joseph," I whisper, my voice barely audible in the darkness.
For a moment, he doesn't respond. Then I hear him exhale, long and slow, like he's been holding his breath.
"Yes."
His voice is rough, low, like gravel and honey, and it makes my stomach tighten.
I move closer, just a fraction, and my hand slides down his arm to his wrist, then to his hand. His fingers are warm, calloused, the skin rough. When I lace mine through his, he doesn't pull away. Instead, his fingers tighten around mine, holding on like he's anchoring himself.
"I'm awake," I say softly.
"I know."
