Like this was a place it had been waiting years to rest.
He exhaled against my collarbone, a soft, shaky breath that made my heart twist.
And neither of us said a word.
Because the silence said everything.
Slowly, Dean’s hand loosened from the sheets, but he didn’t pull away—not entirely. He hovered there, his forehead resting just beneath my jaw for a moment longer, as if he needed one last breath of steadiness before he dared speak.
When he finally lifted his head, his expression was soft. Bare. Almost stunned.
“I didn’t realize…” he murmured, then stopped.
My heart skittered, but I forced the words out. “Realize what?”
He lifted himself just a fraction, brushing a strand of my hair back with his hand. His thumb sweeping along my cheekbone, slow and reverent, his eyes tracing every line like he was memorizing me.
“How well we would fit together,” he whispered.
The words struck something fragile inside me—something I’d spent weeks trying not to feel, something I wasn’t prepared for but couldn’t deny.
“Me either,” I breathed.
But it wasn’t just the physical closeness.
It was everything—the way he touched me, the way he’d listened to me, the way he looked at me like I wasn’t something to hide from or apologize for.
And with a certainty so soft it nearly broke me…
I realized I was falling in love with him.
Twenty-Seven
The first thingI felt was warmth. Comfortable, steady—anchoring me in a way that made me burrow closer before my eyes opened. Dean’s chest rose and fell beneath my cheek, his arm curved protectively around my waist, his breath slow and even against my hair.
For a moment, I let myself drift in this dreamlike state, relishing in the steady thud of his heartbeat. In the distance, I could hear George snoring softly in the corner of the room, his paws twitching in some half-dream that made me imagine him running. The sound of it grounded me in a strange way.
This felt—normal. Safe. My lips curved before I realized I was smiling—because it was too easy to imagine a life like this. Waking up every morning tangled in Dean. His heavy arm across my waist. His breath warm in my hair while morning stretched quiet and still around us. The illusion was so real that I began to imagine impossible things. A home, kids, and love so great that the world outside couldn’t reach us.
But the sunlight then slipped in through the curtains—sharp and relentless. It pressed under my eyelids like a wedge, prying them open until I faced the truth. Last night hadn’t changedanything. In fact, it had tangled me deeper into this web of lies until there was no way out without getting hurt.
My heart kicked hard against my ribs as Dean moved beneath me. His lips brushed my hairline once—soft, fleeting—before he carefully eased himself out from under me and rolled to the other side of the bed.
I froze, barely daring to breathe.
His bare feet hit the hardwood with a quiet thud, the sound too sharp in the hush of the cabin. My chest pinched as fragile peace splintered into a thousand shards around me.
A familiar scene pressed in around my mind. I knew its rhythm well—the after, when warmth faded into distance, when closeness dissolved into silence.
Sex always carried the promise of closeness, but in truth, it often left things strained. Complicated.
I swallowed hard, my eyes following him in the dim light. He walked naked toward the couch, broad shoulders taut with muscles—shadows tracing every line, every part of him that had been mine only hours ago and now felt impossibly far away. He crouched at his bag, pulled out a pair of gray sweatpants, and stepped into them with practiced ease. My throat ached with questions I didn’t know how to ask.
What did this mean?
What happens now?
Slowly, I rolled to my back, tugging the sheet higher across my chest as though it might shield me from the weight of reality.
