I want to curl into him and pretend I’m not afraid.
But the fear won’t quite loosen its grip.
“What’s the matter, Honey?Talk to me.”
I swallow.This is the part where I either protect my pride—or risk it.
“I—I was just wondering…” I start, my voice softer now.“Last night was great?—”
He snorts quietly.“Great.”
“Okay, incredible,” I amend, heat creeping up my neck.
“That’s better.”
I press my lips together, trying not to smile.
“But,” I continue, forcing myself to say the hard part, “sometimes things are incredible in the moment and then… reality shows up.”
His arm tightens again.
“Reality’s still here,” he says evenly.“You’re still here and so am I, Honey.”
“I know.”I swallow.“I just don’t want to wake up tomorrow and find out I misunderstood you.Or that you got swept up in the heat of it and now you’rereconsidering.”
He goes very still at that.
“Reconsidering,” he repeats slowly.
“Men do that,” I say with a shrug that feels braver than I am.“They chase.They win.Then they get bored.They just—they usually don’t want something after they get it,” I mumble with a shrug, suddenly aware of how ridiculous I sound.
I’m over forty.
I run part of a sawmill.
I’ve survived divorce, public humiliation, financial betrayal.
And yet here I am, insecure as a teenager.
But what do you want from me?
I married the only other man I ever slept with.He cheated.He left.He dismantled our life like it was a bad business deal.
How the hell am I supposed to know what men actually want?
J.T.shifts, rolling me gently onto my back.He hovers over me, broad shoulders blocking out the morning light.
His jaw is tight, eyes sharp.
“First of all,” he growls, “I’m not other men.And I sure as shit am not Mike.”
Something in my chest unclenches.
“I-I know you’re not Mike, and I don’t mean to make you pay for his sins,” I whisper.
“I’m a man of my word,” he continues, voice steady now but no less intense.
“But what if you change your mind?”I whisper.
