Eamon’s arms tightened around me. “You’re extraordinary, Charles. Don’t ever let anyone tell you differently.”
We danced until the fire burned low, sharing stories and comfortable silences in equal measure. I told him about my dreams of expanding the bakery and adding a little café, maybe writing a cookbook someday. He told me about places he’d traveled, describing landscapes so vividly I could almost see them myself.
“I was in Swedish Lapland once, during the winter,” he said, his voice taking on that dreamy quality it got when he was remembering something beautiful. “Miles and miles of nothing but snow and pine forests, so quiet you could hear your own heartbeat. But then, at night, the aurora borealis would come out to play—these curtains of green and gold light dancing across the sky like some kind of celestial ballet. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life. Made me feel small and infinite at the same time, if that makes any sense.”
The way he described it, with such reverence and wonder, made me want to see it through his eyes. “It sounds incredible.”
“It was. The kind of place that changes you, you know?Makes you realize how vast the world is, how much beauty there still is to discover.”
“I’ve never traveled much. Mostly, just in the Northeast, and my parents took me to Disney as a kid. Oh, and Justin and I went to Mexico once for a vacation. It was fun, though I’m not really a beach person.”
“Maybe one day, you’ll get the chance,” Eamon said.
“Yeah, maybe.”
With each story, each shared memory, I felt myself falling deeper. This wasn’t merely physical attraction—though god knew that was still simmering under the surface. This was something infinitely more dangerous.
I was falling in love with Eamon O’Rourke.
The realization should have terrified me. Instead, it felt like coming home.
When we finally decided to call it a night, I hesitated at my bedroom door. The thought of sleeping alone, of losing this closeness we’d built, made my chest ache.
“Eamon,” I said, then stopped, unsure how to voice what I was thinking.
“Yeah?”
“Would you…? I mean, if it’s not too weird or unprofessional…” I took a breath and tried again. “Would you stay with me tonight? I know it sounds stupid, but I’m still kind of scared, and it gets really cold up here at night, and?—”
“Yes,” he said simply, cutting off my nervous rambling.
“Yes?”
“Yes, I’ll stay with you.” His smile was soft, understanding. “If that’s what you need.”
We both knew it was a flimsy excuse. The cabin had perfectly adequate heating, and the immediate fear of Carlo had settled into a manageable background hum of anxiety.But I needed this—needed him close, needed to pretend for one night that this thing between us was real.
And from the look in his eyes, he needed it too.
The bathroom was barely big enough for one person, let alone two, but we managed to brush our teeth side by side, bumping elbows and sharing the tiny mirror. It was absurdly domestic, more intimate somehow than our passionate kissing earlier. When Eamon caught my eye in the mirror and smiled around his toothbrush, foam at the corners of his mouth, my heart did a little skip.
This. This was what I wanted. Not just the heat and desire, but the quiet moments, the everyday intimacy of sharing space with someone who cared about you.
In the bedroom, Eamon hesitated for a moment before pulling his shirt over his head, revealing the body I’d been fantasizing about since I’d watched him chop wood earlier. His chest was broad and defined, scattered with dark hair that trailed down toward the waistband of his jeans. When he unbuttoned those too and stepped out of them, revealing black boxer briefs that left very little to the imagination, I had to force myself to look away before I did something stupid like reach for him.
But when I glanced back up at his face, he was giving me the same appreciative once-over as I changed into sleep pants and a T-shirt, his eyes lingering on my bare chest before meeting my gaze with a heat that made my mouth go dry.
We couldn’t. I had to keep telling myself that. We really, really couldn’t.
We settled on opposite sides of the narrow bed, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from his body. For a few minutes, we lay there in awkward silence, both of us hyperaware of the other’s presence.
Then Eamon shifted, his arm coming around my waist to pull me closer. “Come here.”
I went willingly, curling against his side with my head on his chest. His heartbeat was steady and strong beneath my ear, and his hand came up to stroke my hair in slow, soothing motions.
“Better?” he asked softly.
“Much.” And it was. Despite everything—the danger we were hiding from, the professional lines we were dancing around, the growing certainty that my feelings were far deeper than they should be—I felt safe here in his arms.
