“What’s this one about?” I nod toward the book now resting in his lap.
And his dark eyes alight. He starts talking about the plot—a second-chance romance between two people who fell in love young, were torn apart by circumstances beyond their control, and find each other again ten years later—and I watch him transform into someone I’ve never seen before. His hands move as he describes the characters. His voice gets animated when he explains the tension, the miscommunications, the moment when they finally admit what they’ve been feeling all along. He’s passionate about this in a way he hasn’t been passionate about anything else in my presence.
“And the thing is,” he’s saying, leaning forward with enthusiasm, “they both think the other person moved on. They both spent ten years convinced they were the only one still holding on to something. And when they finally talk—really talk, not just the surface stuff—it all comes out. Every assumption, every fear, every reason they stayed away. And you realize the only thing keeping them apart was their own inability to be honest.”
“That sounds painful.”
“It’s excruciating. But in the best way.” He grins. “I’m about three-quarters through. The grovel scene is coming up.”
“The grovel scene?”
“When one of them has to apologize. Make amends. Prove they’ve changed.” His eyes are practically sparkling. “It’s the best part of any romance. The emotional climax before the actual climax. There’s something about a man begging on his knees, you know?”
I’m charmed beyond words. This giant man with his tragic backstory and his walls and his complicated relationship with physical intimacy, geeking out about fictional love stories like a kid discussing their favorite superhero.
It’s the most attractive he’s ever been.
“Will you read some to me?” I ask, before I can think better of it.
He pauses mid-sentence, the enthusiasm dimming slightly into surprise. “What?”
“Read to me. Just a little bit.” I’m already repositioning myself, shifting closer to him on the cushions. “I want to hear the grovel scene. I want to know if they get their happy ending.”
“Read to you? I thought we were trying to get you to sleep. This is riveting stuff,” he teases.
“I will sleep. This will help me.” I curl against his side, resting my head on his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath my ear—strong and rhythmic, like a drum keeping time. “Please? Just until I drift off?”
I feel him hesitate. Feel the moment when he could pull away, establish distance, be the gentleman he keeps insisting he wants to be. The responsible choice. The safe choice.
Instead, his arm comes around me. His hand smooths back my slightly damp hair, fingers gentle as they work through the tangles.
“All right,” he murmurs, his voice rumbling through his chest and into my ear. “But if you hate it, lie, because this is one of my favorites.”
“I promise to lie so good,” I say sincerely.
He chuckles. “If only you were capable of it. You couldn’t lie to me to save your life. You know what?Thatis my favorite thing about you.”
“You seem to have a lot of favorites.”
He taps my nose before holding out his hand for the book. It opens with a soft crack of well-worn spine. He clears his throat.
And then he starts to read.
His voice is low and warm, wrapping around the words like they’re something precious. He does different voices for different characters—subtle shifts in tone and cadence that bring the story to life in ways I didn’t expect. The heroine is sharp-tongued and stubborn, wounded but hiding it beneath layers of sarcasm. The hero is gruff and guarded, protecting his heart behind the barricade of professional distance.
It sounds…familiar, somehow.
I let my eyes drift closed.
The candles flicker against my eyelids, painting the darkness in warm orange tones. Black Cat migrated to my feet at some point, his warm weight a comforting pressure against my ankles, his purr a melodic background hum. Taio’s chest rises and falls beneath my cheek in a slow, steady rhythm. His hand continues to stroke my hair—absent, soothing, the kind of casual intimacy that feels more significant than any kiss.
The story washes over me. Tender moments. Heated glances. The slow, inevitable pull of two people who can’t stay away from each other no matter how hard they try.
I don’t remember falling asleep.
But I know, in the last moment before consciousness faded, I’d never felt safer in my entire life. The world felt so small and manageable, just me, Taio, and our definitely-not-for-keeps cat.
It all seemed…
