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Something breaks in his expression then, like ice cracking under spring sun.

When he kisses me, it's different from the first time. Still slow, still careful, but deeper. Like he's trying to pour everything he can't say into the press of his lips against mine.

I respond with a soft sound that seems to trigger something in him. His hands tighten on my waist, drawing me closer until I'm practically in his lap.

The flannel shirt I'm wearing rides up, and his fingers find bare skin. The contact makes me gasp against his mouth.

"Tell me to stop," he murmurs, trailing kisses down my neck. "Tell me this is crazy."

"It is crazy," I breathe, threading my fingers through his hair. "Don't stop."

He groans, the sound vibrating against my throat. His beard scratches deliciously against my sensitive skin as he explores the curve of my neck, the hollow of my collarbone.

Every touch feels deliberate, like he's mapping my body, learning what makes me shiver, what makes me press closer.

When his hands move to the buttons of the flannel shirt, he pauses, looking up at me. The vulnerability in his eyes makes my heart clench.

"You're beautiful," he says quietly, like it's a fact he needs me to understand. His fingers brush the curve of my breast through the shirt. "So damn beautiful it hurts to look at you sometimes."

I feel myself flush, pleasure and self-consciousness warring inside me. "Vincent—"

"No," he cuts me off, his voice firm. "Don't do that. Don't dismiss it." His hand comes up to cup my face, thumb tracing my bottom lip. "I see you, Sadie. All of you. Your strength, your softness."

His eyes darken. "These curves that make my hands itch to touch. The way you smile when you think no one's looking. How brave you were to run from a life that was suffocating you."

Tears prick at my eyes. No one's ever seen me like this, spoken about me like this. Like I'm something precious and wild and worth protecting.

"Kiss me again," I whisper, and he does.

This kiss is still different—exploratory, reverent. His tongue traces the seam of my lips, and I open for him eagerly.

He tastes like coffee and something uniquely him, and I find myself addicted to the flavor. To the way his hands roam my body like he can't decide where to touch first. To the small sounds he makes when I arch against him.

Time loses meaning.

We could have been kissing for minutes or hours. The world outside the cabin ceases to exist, narrowing down to the points where our bodies connect.

To the way he whispers my name between kisses, like he's trying to convince himself I'm real.

I can feel him trembling slightly, know he's fighting for control.

"We should slow down," he says, but his voice is rough with want. "You've been through a lot. I don't want to take advantage—"

"You're not," I interrupt, pulling back to look at him. "I know what I want, Vincent. I've spent years letting other people tell me what I should want, should be. This?" I gesture between us. "This is my choice. My decision."

He studies me for a long moment, those dark eyes seeing too much. Finally, he nods, pressing a soft kiss to my temple.

"Stay with me," he murmurs against my skin. "Not just today. Stay."

The words make my heart skip. "For how long?"

His arms tighten around me. "As long as you want. As long as you'll have me."

I curl into him, feeling the steady thump of his heart against my cheek. Outside, birds are starting to wake, their songs filtering through the windows.

The storm has passed, but something else is brewing between us—something that feels like possibility. Like hope.

"I'm not going anywhere," I whisper, and I feel him release a breath, like he's been holding it since that night six years ago.