And J.T.doesn’t deserve to have to deal with all my shitty baggage either.
But he seems to want to.And I don’t know if I’m strong enough to walk away from everything he’s offering.
Everything about J.T.screams power and control.But he’s not a bully.He doesn’t shrink himself.And he doesn’t ask me to shrink either.
This man could be at home in his glass-and-iron palace, looking down over the valley like some rugged king surveying his kingdom.
Instead, he’s here.
In this tiny, slightly drafty cabin with mismatched furniture and creaky floors, waiting for me with tea.
That hits me harder than anything else tonight.
I nod and move toward him, lowering myself into the worn armchair across from the fire.
He pours without asking if I want it.
Like he already knows I do.
I add honey.A splash of cream.
He tilts his head, watching me with that quiet curiosity he gets when he’s trying to figure me out.
“Don’t knock it till you try it,” I murmur, my voice softer now.
“Fair enough,” he murmurs, and his sexy gravel voice rolls through me like a siren’s song.
He copies me exactly.
I watch him take a sip—and I have no idea why but the movement of his throat as he swallows is enough to make my panties soaked.
Then, he raises his eyebrows like he’s genuinely surprised.
Outside, the wind stirs the budding branches.The mountain smells like thawing earth and pine, and possibility.
Inside, it smells like wood smoke and citrusand him.
He takes a sip and raises his brows in mild surprise.
I almost smile.
Because even in the middle of legal threats and custody fears and my son’s heartbreak—there’s this.
Compassion.
Companionship.
Warmth.
Tea.
A real man who stayed.
And I realize the mountain isn’t the only thing that’s changing with the season.So am I.
“This really is good,” he says, interrupting my thoughts as he sips his honey cream tea one more time.
I snort softly.
