And then he kisses me.
Not the careful kiss from our first night together. Not the desperate kiss in his bed. This kiss is different—it's a promise. His hands slide into my hair, tilting my head back, and I grab fistfuls of his thermal shirt to pull him closer. He tastes like coffee and relief and coming home.
"Stay," he murmurs against my mouth.
"I'm staying," I say between kisses. "I already told you I'm staying."
"Stay here. With me." He pulls back just enough to look at me, and his eyes are dark with want. "Not fake dating. Not for content. Just us."
"Just us," I agree.
He kisses me again, deeper this time, walking me backward until my spine hits the wall. I make a sound that's half laugh, half gasp, and he swallows it with another kiss. His hands find my waist under my jacket, warm against my sides, and I arch into him.
"We should probably talk more," I manage when we break for air.
"We can talk later." His mouth moves to my neck and I forget why talking seemed important. "We have time now. All the time we want."
"No more games," I say.
"No more games," he agrees, then grins against my skin. "Well. Except actual hockey games. Those continue."
I laugh and pull him back to my mouth. "I can live with that."
Outside, snow begins to fall. Inside Ryder's cabin—our cabin, now, in a way—we finally stop pretending. Stop performing. Stop worrying about scouts and agents and what any of this looks like from the outside.
It's just us. Real and messy and absolutely right.
And when we finally come up for air, breathless and smiling, Ryder threads his fingers through mine.
"For the record," he says, "Sage is going to be insufferable about being right."
"She earned it." I lean my head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Strong and steady and here. "She told me this morning I needed to talk to you."
"Remind me to buy her something expensive."
"She'll probably just rearrange your furniture again."
"As long as you're here when she does it, I don't care."
I pull back to look at him. "You mean that."
"Every word." He kisses my forehead. Soft and sweet and certain. "You're home now, Piper. If you want to be."
"I want to be," I whisper.
And for the first time since Chad's betrayal, since leaving everything behind, since arriving in this crooked cabin next to a grumpy firefighter who became everything—I believe it.
This is home.
He is home.
And we're finally, perfectly real.
Epilogue
Piper
Six months later, and my life looks nothing like I thought it would.
