“What,” I ask.
Her voice is breathy, but steady. “Tell me the truth.”
I hold her gaze. “About what.”
“About why you posted the ad,” she says. “About why you didn’t send me away.”
My jaw tightens. I don’t look away. I don’t soften it.
“I fell first,” I say.
Ellie stills.
I keep going because she deserves it clean. “Years ago. Before you had a shop. Before you stopped being Wade’s kid sister and started being… you.”
Ellie’s throat works. “Wyatt?—”
“I tried to bury it,” I admit. “Because Wade is my brother in everything but blood. Because you were off-limits. Because wanting you felt like betrayal.”
Ellie’s eyes shine, but she doesn’t cry. She never does when it counts. She just steps closer until her body presses into mine. “You know why Graham and I broke up? Because I wouldn’t have sex with him, I wanted to wait until marriage.”
An angry growl escapes my throat before I can stop it. “I should have killed him.”
“I love that you’re not like him, that you’d never pressure me, that you’re not angry and mean and bitter and selfish. You cherish me, I’ve never felt so…loved.”
“I…I’ve loved you for longer than you know.”
“Why didn’t you tell me back then?” she asks quietly.
I exhale. “Fear. Fear that if I wanted you, I’d ruin you. That I’d be the kind of man who takes and takes and calls it protection.”
Ellie lifts her hand and cups my jaw. Her thumb brushes the edge of my beard, soft, steady. “Then stop burying,” she says. “Build.”
The words hit like a vow.
I close my eyes for one beat, then open them and kiss her—not hard this time. Not like a claim that steals breath. Like something reverent.
Ellie melts into it anyway.
I walk her backward toward the bedroom, hands on her waist, mouth on hers, the world narrowing down to warmth and consent and the quiet, brutal truth that I don’t have to pretend anymore.
When we reach the bed, Ellie pulls back just enough to look at me. Her voice is low. “Slow.”
I nod once. “Slow.”
I take the apron strings, untie them, slide the apron off her like I’m unwrapping something I’ve wanted for too long. Ellie shivers when my knuckles brush her skin, and her eyes darken like she’s daring me to keep going.
I do.
I peel the flannel up inch by inch, kissing the skin it reveals, tasting her like chocolate and heat. Ellie’s fingers tangle in my hair, tugging just hard enough to tell me she’s still got a bite.
“You’re not exactly slow,” she whispers.
I lift my head, mouth hovering near hers. “You want me to be slower?”
Ellie’s breath catches. “Don’t get smug.”
I smile against her mouth. “Too late.”
