She’s quiet for a long moment. “He hurt me. Said I was too controlling because I wanted to freeze my eggs and plan for surrogacy before we were even engaged. Made me feel broken for wanting to have options.”
My jaw clenches so hard it hurts. “He’s an idiot.”
“You don’t have to say that.”
“I’m not just saying it.” I move closer, my free hand finding her knee. “You’re a surgeon, Claire. Planning is literally what keeps people alive. And freezing your eggs? That’s smart. That’s taking control of your future. There’s nothing broken about that.”
Her eyes get bright. “Derek said I couldn’t just let things happen naturally.” Through the window behind her, the valley’s already deep in shadow, the sun dropped below the ridge.
“Fuck naturally.” The words come out harder than I mean them. “You know what’s natural? People dying from infections before antibiotics. Broken bones healing crooked. That natural enough?” I cup her face. “Modern medicine exists because smart people refused to just let things happen. You’re one of those people. Don’t ever apologize for it.”
A tear slips down her cheek. I catch it with my thumb.
“After Jenna died,” I say quietly, “I thought I was done wanting kids. Felt like a betrayal to even think about it with someone else. But lately I’ve been realizing maybe love isn’t finite like that. Maybe the future doesn’t have to look like what I lost to still be worth having.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I’m open to it. Whatever shape it takes—surrogacy, adoption, no kids at all. I’m open as long as it’s with the right person.” I lean my forehead against hers, my voice softening. “And Claire? You are becoming that person for me.”
“Shouldn’t we spend more time together?.”
“Yes, we should. And I’m not asking you to decide anything. Just saying I’m here.” I tip her chin up. “And Derek Chen can take his opinions and shove them up his ass.”
She laughs, watery and surprised. Then she kisses me. She tastes like the mint gum she was chewing in the car, sweet and sharp. Her lips are soft, her mouth eager, and when she bites my lower lip, I groan into her.
It starts soft but goes hot fast. Her hands slide into my hair, and I grip her hips, pull her to the edge of the couch. When she wraps her legs around my waist, I stand, lifting her with me.
“Bedroom?” I ask against her mouth.
“Couch is closer.”
I lower us both down, her back against the leather, me braced over her. My left arm takes my weight without complaint—full recovery, no pain. I kiss down her throat while she arches into me, and when I reach for the hem of her shirt, she helps me peel it off.
The suspenders hit the floor with her shirt, and the white lace underneath makes my brain short-circuit.
“You wore this for me?”
“Maybe.” She’s breathless, flushed. “Did it work?”
“You have no idea.” I lower my head, press my mouth to the swell of her breast above the lace. She gasps, her fingers fisting in my hair, and I take my time learning what makes her come apart.
Without warning, Claire’s reaching for my belt. Her surgeon’s hands are quick and sure, and when she gets my jeans open, I have to grip the couch arm to keep from flipping her under me right here on the hardwood.
I return the favor, and when I finally get her jeans off, when I finally touch her where she’s hot and ready, she says my name like a prayer. I work her through her first orgasm with my hand, watching her face, memorizing every expression.
“Hunter.” She’s pulling at my shirt. “Please.”
I strip fast, grab a condom from the side table—hopeful bastard that I am—and settle between her thighs. When I push inside her, we both go still. She’s tight and wet and perfect. I can feel her pulse where we’re joined, rapid and fluttering. Her nails dig crescents into my shoulders, the small bite of pain grounding me before I lose it completely.
“Okay?” My voice barely works.
“More than okay.” She wraps her legs around my waist. “Move.”
I do. Start slow, watching her face, finding the rhythm that makes her eyes go dark and her nails dig into my shoulders. The couch is narrow and awkward, but I don’t care because Claire’s under me saying my name, and this is better than every fantasy I’ve tortured myself with.
When she comes again, I follow, burying my face in her neck as I empty myself inside her.
We lie there catching our breath, tangled together on my worn leather couch. Through the window, the sun’s setting, painting the valley in shades of amber and purple. Long shadows stretch across my porch, and the pines have gone black against the sky. The temperature’s already dropping. The nights get cold this far from town, even in summer. Inside, the house holds the day’s warmth in the stone walls, wood beams still radiating heat like they’re breathing.
