A soft, unexpected warmth spread through me. “Eric…”
“I’ll sleep on the floor if you want,” he said quickly. “Or in the chair. Or outside the room. I just…” He paused, searching for the right words. “I need to know you’re okay.”
The sincerity in his voice hit me like a wave.
I took a small step toward him. “I don’t want to be alone.”
Relief flickered in his expression. He turned off the guest room light and led me to his bedroom instead. My heart fluttered with something that felt both terrifying and grounding. His room was warm, lived-in, with soft dim light and the lingering smell of pine soap. When he shut the door, the quiet wrapped around us. He rummaged in his dresser and handed me a pair of soft sweatpants and a long-sleeve shirt.
“Here,” he said. “They’ll be more comfortable.”
I took the clothes and went to take a shower in the bathroom. Just a quick one to wash the stress of the day off, but it didn’t relax me. Not for a second. I slipped on Eric’s clothes and took a deep inhale of the scent, which reminded me of him. When I returned, Eric stood by the window looking out toward the fields. His shoulders were tense, his silhouette strong and protective.
“You’re watching for whoever it is,” I said.
“Yes,” he answered.
There was no hesitation in the word. No fear. Just resolve.
I stepped closer. “Do you think he’s out there?”
“I think he knows where you were this morning,” he said. “But he does not know where you are now. And he won’t find out.”
Something in his tone wrapped around me like a shield. Eric turned, and when he saw me standing there in his clothes, something softened in his eyes. Not lust exactly. Something deeper. Something that lived just beneath the surface when he looked at me.
“Harmony,” he said quietly, “come here.”
I trudged over to him barefoot. He lifted a hand to my cheek, gentle and warm. His thumb brushed my skin like he was memorizing the shape of me.
“We’ll take this one step at a time,” he murmured.
The truth in his voice anchored me, steadied me. He wasn’t just talking about the danger. He was talking about us. He was worried about moving too quickly and scaring me off. That much I could tell. What he didn’t know was how much I cherished him, cared for him. That never changed and never would.
I rested my forehead against his chest. His arms came around me, slow and protective. His heartbeat thudded beneath my ear, strong and certain, and for the first time since the thistle appeared, I felt like maybe I could breathe again.
The danger wasn’t gone. The fear wasn’t gone. But I wasn’t facing it alone anymore.
Not tonight with him holding me like this.
CHAPTER 26
Eric
Harmony slept curled against me for most of the night but it wasn’t deep or peaceful. Every time she shifted or her breath hitched, I woke up. My body stayed wired, waiting for a sound that didn’t belong, a shadow at the window, a vibration from my phone.
Nothing came.
Thankfully.
But the absence of danger didn’t settle me. It only made me more aware that whoever sent that photo knew how to wait. By sunrise, Harmony was still tucked under my arm, her cheek pressed against my chest. For a moment, I just watched her breathe. Her eyelashes were smudged from fatigue, her hair tangled from sleep and stress, but she looked softer like this. Fragile and fierce all at once.
When she stirred, I whispered, “Morning.”
She blinked up at me, disoriented. Then her eyes widened a little as memory returned. “I’m still here.” Her smile was soft and real.
“Good,” I said. “Stay a little longer.”
She didn’t argue. That told me more about her state than anything else.
