She hesitates, then nods, allowing me to guide her back into the cabin with a light touch on her shoulder. In the kitchen, I move to the stove to heat milk for hot chocolate, a remedy Bill always prepared when nightmares woke her as a child.
"You remember," she says softly, watching me work.
"Some things stick." I find the cocoa powder in the cabinet where it's sat untouched for months. I keep it stocked out of habit, the ghost of a little girl's preferences haunting my shopping list long after she grew up.
We don't speak as I heat the milk, add the chocolate, pour it into mugs. The familiar ritual calms something in both of us. When I hand her a steaming mug, our fingers brush, and I don't immediately pull away.
"Thank you." She cradles the mug between her palms. "For this. For today. For everything."
"You don't need to thank me."
"I do, though." Her gaze is steady, unflinching. "You've always been there, Elias. Even when I didn't know I needed someone."
The simple truth of her words disarms me. I have always been there, hovering at the edges of her life. First as her father's friend, then as her reluctant guardian, and now... now as something I still can't bring myself to name.
"I made a promise," I say, the familiar refrain sounding hollow even to my own ears.
Riley sighs, a soft sound of frustration. "Is that all it is? A promise?"
The question deserves honesty. After everything she's been through, losing her father, Cooper's betrayal, facing down threats with more courage than men twice her age, she deserves at least that much from me.
"No," I admit finally. "It's more than that. It's always been more."
She sets down her mug, moving toward me with purpose. Before I can retreat, she's standing before me, close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in her green eyes, can count every freckle across her nose.
"Then stop hiding behind it," she says softly. "Stop pretending that's the only reason you care."
Her nearness is intoxicating, clouding my judgment, weakening my resolve. I should step back. Should maintain the distance I've so carefully preserved.
Instead, I find myself saying, "I care because you're you, Riley. Because you're brave and stubborn and too smart for your own good."
A smile breaks across her face, as brilliant as sunrise after the longest night. "Now we're getting somewhere."
Her hand rises to my chest, resting over my heart just as it had hours earlier on the couch. But this time, in the quiet darkness with nothing but stars to witness, I don't pull away.
"You should go back to bed," I murmur, even as my hand covers hers.
"Probably." Her eyes never leave mine. "But I don't want to."
The admission hangs between us for a beat. With one word, one movement, I could bridge the gap I've maintained for so long. Could take what she's offering.
"Riley." Her name is a warning, a plea, a prayer.
"I know what I want, Elias." Her voice is steady, certain. "I've known for a long time."
"Your whole life ahead of you," I remind her, one last attempt at reason.
"And I'm choosing how to live it." She steps closer, eliminating the last inches between us. "The question is, are you brave enough to choose too?"
The challenge strikes something primal in me, the part that's never backed down from a fight, never retreated from danger. But this isn't combat. This is Riley, offering herself with a confidence that belies her years.
Riley, who deserves better than a scarred, broken man twice her age.
"You should be with someone younger," I say, even as my free hand rises to cup her cheek. "Someone whole."
"I don't want younger, or what you think is 'whole.'" Her eyes flash with determination. "I want you. Scars and all."
My control fractures at her words, restraint crumbling beneath the weight of want. My thumb traces her lower lip, testing its softness, memorizing its shape.
