My desk.
The coffee pot is full, the crew is humming outside, and the sun is breaking through the snow clouds just enough to send streaks of light across the paperwork I’ve managed to finally catch up on.
And despite everything I’ve been through—despite the fear, the pain, the lingering shadows of who I used to be—I feel something unfamiliar bubbling up inside me.
Contentment.
Joy, even.
Most of all?
I feel capable.
I feel like I belong here.
Not just at the mill.
Not just in this job.
But on this mountain. In this life.With him.
And for once, I don’t talk myself out of it.
I let myself want it.
I let myself dream.
Because maybe I’m finally safe enough to believe I deserve this.
I know it sounds cliché, but every day really is better than the last.
Every night, I go home with him.
With Thatcher.
And that man—Lord above—that man gives a whole new meaning to the word sex.
Because it’s not just the way he moves or the way he kisses.
It’s not even the growl in his throat or the way his body cages mine like I’m something precious and breakable—and also maybe something that’s his.
It’s what he makes me feel.
When Thatcher touches me?
It’s like the rest of the world disappears.
No one else exists. No past. No shadows. No broken pieces.
Just him. Just us.
His hands on my skin are more than hands—they’re a promise.
A prayer.
A demand I want to answer.
And when he looks at me like I’m everything?
