“I’m just—” Her voice came out choked. “I’m so tired of holding everything up. The campground, the Hideaway, my grandparents, even this whole stupid swap. I’m selling a place I love and raising money living in a tent so I can take care of people I love, and today I thought I might lose her and?—”
Her words tangled, broke. A small, raw sound escaped her.
Joe moved to put his arm around her. “You don’t have to hold it all right now,” he said. “I’ve watched you be brave all day. Let go. I’m here for you.”
Her chin wobbled. “I don’t know how to not be okay.”
“Come here,” he said gently.
Something in her expression crumpled, then gave way. She leaned into him, and he pulled her in close. She fit against him like she belonged there, the top of her head tucking under his chin, her hands fisting in his shirt.
He held her while she cried. Real, messy, shaking sobs that left damp patches on his chest. He rubbed slow circles on her back, murmuring nothing words.
Frankie woke up, blinked, then hopped up to rest his chin on her foot like backup.
Eventually, the sobs quieted. Her breathing eased from ragged to rough to something closer to normal.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled into his shirt.
“Don’t be,” he said. “If anyone’s earned a meltdown, it’s you.”
She gave a wet little laugh at that, pulling back just enough to look up at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed, lashes damp, cheeks flushed. Somehow, he found her more beautiful than he had all day.
“This is not my sexiest moment,” she muttered.
He smiled, thumb brushing away a stray tear at the edge of her cheek. “You’d be surprised.”
The air between them shifted. It was still fragile, still threaded with grief and fear, but now shot through with something warmer, deeper. The same pull that had been tugging at him since the night at the firepit, right here at the Hideaway.
He cupped her face gently in both hands and kissed her.
It started softly, a question. Her lips tasted like salt and honey and the faint tang of lime. For a heartbeat, she went still.
Then she kissed him back.
The answer was in the way she moved closer, knees bumping his, fingers sliding up into his hair. The kiss deepened, slow and reverent, not about distraction or adrenaline this time, but about connection.
He broke away just long enough to look down to her. “Come outside,” he murmured. “It’s too pretty a night to waste.”
They slipped out onto the back deck, leaving the lights low inside. The lake stretched out in front of them, still and wide, a dark mirror strewn with moonlight. Fireflies blinked lazily over the water’s edge, tiny lanterns in the tall grass. The air was warm, touched with the faint sweetness of clover and the distant smoke of campfires.
Krista grabbed one of the thick blankets she kept for chilly evenings and shook it out over the nearest lounge chair before unbuttoning her jean shorts and letting them fall to the deck.
Joe swallowed hard. He’d pictured her like this before—God, so many times—but nothing his imagination conjured even came close.
“You sure?” he asked quietly.
She took a step back, the edge of the blanket behind her. Her eyes shone, but not just with tears now. “One hundred percent.”
He swallowed again, heat and tenderness tangling in his chest.
“Okay,” he said.
They sank down together, the blanket cocooning them from the warm wood of the deck. He folded her into his side, and she turned toward him, her palm settling over his heart, feeling the steady thud. His arm curled around her waist, anchoring her to him.
The world—the stress and ache of everything waiting on the other side—faded into a quiet haze. It was just them now. Just this.
He kissed her like she was the only thing tethering him to this place, to this moment. Her fingers threaded into his hair. His mouth moved to her jaw, her neck, her collarbone, each kiss lower.
