“Free drinks for the happy couple! I promise it’s not moonshine,” she announces, pressing an iced tea into my hand and a black coffee into Forrest’s. “On the house. Mabel told me to make sure you both stay hydrated after all that celebrating.” She winks at me. “You two looked so cute dancing together. The whole town is buzzing about how Forrest Kane finally got swept off his big feet.”
Forrest lets out one of his deep, rolling laughs. “Swept me right off them. Best thing that ever happened.”
Rosie beams and gives my arm a quick squeeze before heading back inside. “Enjoy the rest of your Sunday!”
We continue our slow walk, sipping our drinks. Forrest listens with genuine interest every time I share a story from my life in Denver—the chaotic marketing campaigns, the endless traffic, the way the city never truly quiets down. He asks thoughtful questions, his hazel eyes focused completely on me. His big laugh erupts whenever I exaggerate the ridiculous parts, and the sound wraps around me like a hug.
Every few steps, he finds a new reason to touch me, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, resting his hand at the small of my back, or lifting our joined hands to press a kiss to my knuckles. Each casual caress builds a slow-burning heat low in my belly. By the time we reach the edge of town where we had parked, my desire is almost unbearable.
“Forrest,” I say, my voice softer and breathier than I intend. “Take me home.”
His eyes darken with the same hunger I feel. “Yes, ma’am.”
The drive back to the cabin passes in a haze of charged silence and stolen glances. The moment we step inside and close the door behind us, the tension snaps. Forrest lifts me into his arms like I weigh nothing, my legs wrapping around his waist as our mouths crash together in a deep, needy kiss. I bury my fingers in his thick hair, tugging just enough to draw a low growl from his throat.
He carries me straight to the bedroom, setting me gently on the edge of the bed before dropping to his knees in front of me. Those strong, calloused hands slide up my thighs, pushing the borrowed flannel shirt higher until he can press hot, open-mouthed kisses along my skin. Every touch feels reverent and possessive at the same time—gentle enough to make me melt, firm enough to remind me I am his.
“Been wanting to do this all day,” he murmurs against my inner thigh, his breath warm and teasing. “My wife. So beautiful. So mine.”
I tease him right back, my sassy words turning into soft gasps as his mouth finds me. Forrest takes his time, using his tongue and fingers with patient skill until my hips are lifting off the bed and my hands are fisted in the sheets. When I finally shatter, crying out his name, he rises over me with a satisfied growl, shedding his clothes in record time.
He enters me in one smooth thrust, filling me completely. The stretch is perfect, the connection electric. We move together in a slow, deep rhythm at first, savoring every slide and retreat. His big hands grip my hips, guiding me as I meet each thrust.
I meet his hazel eyes, the intensity there stealing what little breath I have left. He drives into me harder, deeper, one hand slipping between us to circle that sensitive bundle of nerves until I am trembling on the edge again. We fall over together this time, his release pulsing hot inside me as my own pleasure crashes through every nerve.
Afterward, we lie tangled in the sheets, my head resting on his broad chest while his fingers trace lazy patterns up and down my spine. The late afternoon light filters through the pines outside, casting long shadows across the wooden floor. Forrest’s heartbeat thuds steady and strong beneath my ear.
Doubts flicker at the edges of my mind—how impossibly fast everything has moved, how little we still know about each other, how my entire life sits back in Denver waiting for decisions I am not ready to make. But those worries feel distant and quiet compared to the overwhelming joy and connection humming between us right now.
Forrest presses a kiss to the top of my head, his arm tightening around me. I tilt my head to look up at him, tracing the line of hisjaw with my fingertips. If we could just stay right here forever, I would never want anything else.
Chapter Eight
Forrest
Monday morning arrives too soon. I wake before the sun has fully cleared the pines, the cabin still wrapped in that soft gray light that makes everything feel quieter than it should. Sloane is curled against my side, her dark hair spilled across my chest, one leg draped over mine like she belongs there. My wife.
The word still hits me hard every time I think it. But this morning it comes with a sharp edge of doubt.
She’s supposed to leave today. Back to Denver. Back to her job, her apartment, her real life. The one that doesn’t include a grufflumberjack who lives in a hand-built cabin and spends his days covered in sawdust. I stare at the ceiling, listening to her soft breathing, and the fear I’ve been pushing down all weekend rises up like smoke.
What if she wakes up and realizes this was all a mistake? What if the quiet of Pine Peak starts to feel like a cage instead of a home? What if she needs the city lights, the fast pace, the noise? I can’t give her any of that?
I’m already in love with her. I know it down to my bones. I fell the moment I first saw her after she hit my car. Love doesn’t mean she’ll be happy here. Love doesn’t mean she’ll stay.
She stirs, blinking awake slowly. Those sparkling eyes find mine, and she gives me that soft, sleepy smile that always makes my chest tighten.
“Morning,” she whispers, voice husky from sleep.
“Morning, wife,” I reply, the words coming out rougher than I intend.
She must hear something in my tone because her smile fades a little. She props herself up on one elbow, the sheet slipping down to reveal the curve of her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
I rub my beard, the old habit kicking in when I don’t know how to say what I’m feeling. “You’re supposed to head back to Denver today.”
She goes still. “I know.”
The silence stretches. I sit up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed, elbows on my knees. My back is to her, but I can feel her eyes on me.
