“About?”
I considered how much to share, then remembered what he’d said about communication being key. “About how different everything feels now. I hadn’t realized how starved I was for calm.”
He stopped and turned to face me, his expression serious. “You’ve been running on empty for a long time, bud. It’s going to take more than a couple days to refill that tank.”
“I know.” I looked down at our joined hands. “But it already feels easier. Like I can actually breathe for the first time in months.”
“Good.” He squeezed my hand. “That’s exactly how it should feel. And we’re going to make sure you keep feeling that way.”
“We?” I asked, looking up at him.
“We,” he confirmed. “This is a partnership, Tanner. I take care of you, yes, but you also take care of me by letting me. By trusting me with your needs. That’s not nothing.”
The lump that formed in my throat made it hard to speak. No one had ever framed it that way before—like my submission, my vulnerability, was a gift rather than a burden.
“Thank you,” I managed to say.
He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead, right above the edge of my hat. “Come on. Let’s finish the rounds so I can get you back inside where it’s warm.”
We spent the next hour walking the property, and I found myself relaxing more with each step. There was something meditative about it all. The crunch of snow under our boots, the crisp air filling my lungs, the solid presence of Simon beside me.
When we finally headed back toward the main house, I felt more grounded than I had in years. Like I’d found my footing on solid earth after drifting for too long.
“I’m going to grab some tools from the barn,” Simon said as we approached the outbuildings. “Why don’t you head inside and warm up? I’ll be right behind you.”
I nodded, reluctant to let go of his hand but knowing he had work to do. “Okay.”
He waited until I was on the porch before heading toward the barn, and I watched him go with a small smile on my face.
Inside, I stripped off my outer layers, carefully hanging everything on the hooks by the door. As I pulled my coat off, something fluttered to the ground.
A small piece of paper.
I bent to pick it up, my heart already speeding up because I recognized what this was.
Another note.
My hands trembled slightly as I unfolded it, reading the words written in the neat handwriting:
You’re doing better. Proud of you for doing what was needed.
The tears came without warning, hot and fast. But these weren’t sad tears or overwhelmed tears. These were tears of gratitude, of recognition, of finally being seen.
My Secret Santa was proud of me.
Not for winning cases or working impossible hours or being strong when I wanted to break. He was proud of me for trusting him. For letting him in. For being vulnerable enough to ask for what I needed.
I clutched the note to my chest, trying to catch my breath around the emotions threatening to swamp me.
“Tanner?”
I looked up to find Sean standing in the doorway to the kitchen, concern written across his features.
“Are you okay?” he asked, moving closer.
I nodded quickly, swiping my eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just—” I held up the note, not sure how to explain.
Understanding dawned on Sean’s face, and his expression softened. “He’s good at that, isn’t he? Knowing exactly what you need to hear.”
