He pulls me into his arms, and I feel the tension drain out of him as he holds me. I wrap my arms around his waist and rest my cheek against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat.
We stand like that for a long time, the kitchen quiet around us except for the hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of wind through the trees.
Finally, he pulls back just enough to look down at me.
"Thank you," he says softly. "For listening to me, for understanding, and for not running when I showed you the messy parts."
"Everyone has messy parts," I say. "Yours just happen to be wrapped up in grief. That doesn't make them less worthy of being seen."
He lifts a hand and cups my cheek, his thumb brushing across my skin in a gesture so tender it makes my breath catch.
"You are incredible," he murmurs.
"You are pretty incredible yourself," I reply.
He leans down slowly, giving me time to pull away if I want to. But I don't want to pull away. I want this. I want him.
When his lips meet mine, the kiss is soft and searching, like he is asking a question I answer with the way I lean into him. His hands slide into my hair, and mine fist in his shirt, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of us and the warmth building between us.
When we finally pull apart, we are both breathing hard.
"We should probably get some sleep," he says, though he doesn't sound like he wants to.
"Probably," I agree, though I don't move.
He smiles, and it's the first real smile I've seen from him all night. "Come on. I'll walk you back upstairs."
We climb the stairs together in comfortable silence. When we reach the guest room, he pauses at the door.
"Goodnight, Piper," he says.
"Goodnight, Dylan."
He hesitates, then leans down and presses a soft kiss to my forehead. "Thank you."
"Always," I say, and I mean it.
He lingers for a moment longer, then forces himself to step back and head toward his own room at the end of the hall.
I close the door and lean against it, my heart pounding and my mind racing. I'm falling for him, not just the charming baker with the talented hands and the adorable daughter, but all of him; the grieving widower, the protective father, and the person who carries his pain with grace and still finds ways to create beauty in the world.
And that terrifies me more than any wildfire ever could, because falling for Dylan means staying. And staying means putting down roots, and putting down roots means risking everything I've spent years protecting myself from.
But maybe, just maybe, it's worth the risk.
The next morning,I wake to the smell of coffee and pancakes. I pull on a sweatshirt and head downstairs to find Dylan at the stove, flipping pancakes while Maddie sits at the table coloring.
"Morning," I say, and they both look up.
"Piper!" Maddie squeals. "Daddy is making chocolate chip pancakes!"
"I can see that," I say, smiling.
Dylan glances at me, and there is something different in his expression this morning. Lighter. More open.
"Coffee?" he offers.
"Please."
