The words broke something open inside me. “Eric…”
He kissed my cheek, my jaw, the corner of my mouth.
“I don’t need labels right this second,” he said. “I don’t need answers you’re not ready for. But I need you to know this isn’t temporary. This isn’t a mistake. And I’m not going anywhere.”
Warmth spread through me like slow, steady light.
I traced the edge of his jaw with my fingertips. “I don’t want last night to be the last time.”
His eyes darkened, not with hunger but something deeper. “I don’t either.”
A long silence stretched between us, comfortable now, softer. He ran his fingers down my spine and I melted into the touch.
“When you’re ready,” he said quietly, “we can talk about what this becomes. But for now? Just stay. Here. With me.”
My chest tightened. “I want that.”
His smile was small and warm. “Good.”
He pulled the blanket over us and held me closer, his breath brushing my shoulder, his hand splayed against my back like he was anchoring me in place. And for the first time in years, I felt something I hadn’t let myself feel.
Wanted.
Safe.
Chosen.
His warmth wrapped around me and for a moment I let myself believe it could really be this simple. Until my throat got scratchy and I began to cough. It was terrible timing, but completely out of my control.
I laughed, despite my dry throat. “My voice is gone.”
“The heater dries the place out,” he said, climbing out of bed. “I’ll get coffee going.”
He turned, and I caught the shape of his body in the morning light—strong, sculpted, steady.
“Damn, Thorne,” I said, “not bad for a baker.”
He grinned. “I train with the fire department.”
“Then why do you still bake?”
His expression shuttered. “That’s… complicated.” He kissed my shoulder and slipped downstairs.
I pulled his flannel shirt around me and reached for my laptop to check a Petals and Pines invoice. Normal things. Safe things.
But a red notification blinked on the screen.
Encrypted message received.
1 attempt. Deleted before view.
Sender:A string of symbols I knew too well.
One of Marcel’s old fail-safe channels.
My stomach lurched.
Before I could screenshot it. . . the message vanished. Fear crawled down my spine. I shut the laptop. Eric couldn’t see that. Not now. Not after last night. I headed downstairs. He turned when he heard me, a mug waiting in his hand.
