My face flushed instantly. “Stephen?—”
“What?” His laugh was low and dangerous as he swayed me to the music. “You don’t think I noticed how that dress fits you? How every man here has been trying not to stare?” His hand tightened on my waist, possessive and commanding. “But you’re mine, Trudy. They all know it. And in about an hour, I’m taking you home and reminding you exactly who you belong to.”
Heat bloomed across my chest and up my neck. “We’re in public,” I whispered, even as I found myself pressing closer to him.
“I don’t give a fuck who’s watching.” His voice was rough, possessive. “Let them see. Let them know you’re taken by a man who’s going to spend all night showing you exactly how much he wants you.”
I should have been mortified, should have told him to behave himself. Instead, I felt my pulse quicken, felt my body respond to his promises in ways that made me grateful for the darkness of the setting sun. We swayed together, our bodies finding a rhythm that had nothing to do with the music and everything to do with the connection between us, and I realized I wasn’t worrying about what people were thinking or saying. I wasn’t wondering if this was too soon or if I was being disloyal to Terry’s memory or if I deserved to feel this light and free. Iwas just... present. Just enjoying the feeling of being held by someone who wanted to hold me, who chose me every day and made sure I knew it.
The music shifted to something faster, more upbeat, and Stephen spun me out and then back in, making me laugh like I was a girl again instead of a woman who’d spent years trying not to feel anything at all. The joy bubbled up from somewhere deep inside me, surprising me with its force. Around us, other couples danced, their movements blurring into a kaleidoscope of color and motion. Cash and Kytten had joined the floor with both their babies in their arms, moving together like they’d been doing this forever, like they’d invented some new form of dancing that involved toddlers and perfect synchronization. The whole scene was chaotic and messy and perfectly beautiful, the kind of beautiful that came from real life, not from carefully staged photographs or fairy-tale endings.
And I was part of it. Not standing on the outside, watching other people live their lives like I was looking through a window at a party I wasn’t invited to. Not hiding in the bakery, serving other people’s happiness while I pretended to be content with crumbs, convincing myself that witnessing joy was the same as experiencing it. I was in the middle of it all, claiming my place, allowing myself to take up space in a way I hadn’t in far too long.
When the song ended, Stephen didn’t let me go. He just held me there, his chin resting on top of my head, his hand splayed across my lower back like he was memorizing the shape of me. I could feel his heartbeat through his chest, steady and strong, and I let myself sink into the moment without worrying about what came next.
“I love you,” he said quietly, like it was a fact we both already knew.
I pulled back just enough to look at him, searching his face for any sign of teasing or manipulation. I found none. Just agruff biker who’d walked into my bakery six months ago and refused to let me hide anymore.
“I love you too,” I said, and it felt like stepping off a cliff. Terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.
Stephen’s smile was slow and satisfied. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere, Trudy. You’re stuck with me.”
“I know,” I said, letting him pull me back close.
And for the first time since Terry died, I didn’t feel guilty about that. Instead, I felt grateful. Grateful for second chances. Grateful for a man stubborn enough to fight through my walls. Grateful for permission, from Terry, from Cash’s honesty, from myself, to keep living.
Maybe that was enough. Maybe that was everything.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Trudy
The party was winding down as we made our way through the thinning crowd. The band was packing up, couples were saying their goodbyes, and the string lights overhead were starting to flicker off one by one. Stephen’s hand was possessive on the small of my back, guiding me through the scattered groups of people.
“Trudy!” a familiar voice called out. Frank approached, his wife Margaret at his side, both of them smiling warmly. Frank had always been kind to me. He was one of the few men who’d treated me with genuine respect over the years.
“Frank, Margaret, wonderful to see you both,” I said, accepting Frank’s embrace.
“Thank you, dear.” Margaret squeezed my hand. “But, Trudy, you look absolutely radiant tonight. I’ve never seen you shine like this.”
Frank nodded, his eyes warm and approving as they shifted to Stephen. “She does. And it’s clear why. You’re a lucky man,” he said to Stephen, extending his hand.
Stephen shook it firmly. “I know exactly how lucky I am,” he said, and the possessiveness in his voice made something flutter in my chest.
After we exchanged more pleasantries and said our goodbyes, Stephen raised an eyebrow at me as we continued toward the parking lot. “Frank?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his tone.
“An old friend,” I said. “He was kind to me. Terry and I knew him for years.”
“He was looking at you like he was remembering what you look like when you come,” Stephen said, not bothering to hide the satisfaction in his voice. “Good thing he knows you belong to me now.”
I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling. Before I could respond, a voice stopped us in our tracks.
“Trudy! Leaving so soon?”
Harold and Edith Foster stood near the parking lot, Edith’s smile sharp enough to cut glass. Harold looked uncomfortable, which probably meant his wife had already spent the evening being her usual charming self.
“Happy anniversary,” I said, forcing warmth into my voice. “You two had such a lovely party.”
