He nodded. “I d-don’t want to be left behind. And I don’t want to l-let fear decide for me again.”
I squeezed his hand, overwhelmed by the magnitude of the moment. “Then we’ll figure it out.”
“Day by day,” he said.
“Yeah,” I agreed, smiling softly. “Day by day.”
19
CALLOWAY
The day after Thanksgiving, Forestville had returned to its familiar quiet. A delicate frost coated the streets, making the sidewalks glisten and the windows fog over just enough to lend a cozy feel to the inside world.
I spent the morning tucked away in my reading chair, losing track of time in a new poetry collection. By afternoon, an inexplicable urge had driven me into the kitchen, coaxing a cranberry orange loaf into existence. I liked to pretend I wasn’t baking it for Fraser, though deep down, I knew better. The prospect of making something for someone else, the anticipation of sharing, was rekindling a warmth I had missed for the last seven years.
Fraser had stayed the night, leaving mid-morning to work out, shower, and grab fresh clothes. He’d converted one of his spare bedrooms into a personal gym. A dedication I admired but had no intention to imitate. Fortunately, my fast metabolism spared me the need for cardio.
He returned around three, bundled in his navy coat and wool scarf, cheeks kissed rosy by the cold. In his hands, he had abouquet of pine sprigs tied with twine—a simple gesture that somehow set my heart into a stuttered rhythm.
He brushed his cold lips softly against mine. “For you.”
“You’re r-ridiculous,” I said, grinning so wide it almost hurt.
We had a bounty of leftovers from yesterday’s feast—roasted vegetables, stuffing, slices of turkey soaked in gravy that had somehow retained its richness overnight. We ate curled up on the couch, our knees brushing, each with a wine glass on the coffee table between us. The fireplace crackled warmly nearby, and for the first time since Marcus had passed, I felt a complete ease in companionship over a holiday weekend. No lingering guilt. No ghostly echoes by my side.
Just Fraser.
After we finished eating, I nestled into him, my cheek finding its familiar resting place over his heart as we watched a movie. Outside, the wind rustled gently against the windows. Inside, the room was drenched in warmth, the kind of comfort that only settles in when you stop expecting it.
The movie flickered on, a romantic comedy I’d seen before but always enjoyed. My attention, though, was elsewhere. Fraser’s fingers traced idle patterns on my arm, and I was keenly aware of every point of contact between us—my cheek on his chest, his leg pressed against mine, our socked feet tangled together on the ottoman.
I tilted my head to look up at him and found his gaze already on me, his eyes soft and warm in the TV’s flickering light. He smiled so endearingly that I leaned up to nuzzle into the crook of his neck, breathing in his clean, masculine scent. He hummed softly and wrapped his arm around me a little tighter.
Emboldened, I pressed a kiss to the pulse point on his neck, feeling it jump beneath my lips. Fraser’s fingers found my chin, gently tilting my face up to his. Our eyes met in a charged moment before he claimed my mouth in a searing kiss that leftme breathless. The movie all but forgotten, I turned fully into him, sliding my hands into his hair as the kiss deepened. He pulled me closer until I was practically in his lap, our bodies perfectly aligned.
We kissed languidly for long moments, the world around us fading from consciousness. Fraser’s hands traced up and down my back, slipping beneath the hem of my sweater to caress the bare skin at the small of my back. I shivered, pressing closer, and slid fully into his lap.
He groaned softly, his hard cock straining against his pants. Desire coursed through me, and I rocked my hips experimentally. His fingers tightened on my hips, voice low. “Sweetheart, if we take this further…”
“B-b-bedroom?”
Fraser didn’t need to be told twice. In one fluid motion, he stood, lifting me with him. I let out an undignified squeal, instinctively wrapping my legs around his waist. “Fraser! Y-you can’t carry m-me. Y-your knee!”
His face tightened momentarily, but then he let out a deep sigh and gently set me down. “I know. I want to though.”
“I ap-p-preciate the thought.”
Instead of carrying me, Fraser held out both his hands. I took them, threading our fingers together, and he walked me backward, our eyes never leaving each other. Once in my bedroom, I let go briefly to turn up the thermostat and switch on some soft lights.
Fraser watched me with eyes full of want, a need that humbled and uplifted me. I stepped close to him, and our mouths met again. God, he was such a good kisser. His lips were soft yet insistent against mine, his tongue tracing the seam of my mouth before delving in. I opened for him with a soft moan, my tongue sliding against his in return.
Fraser’s hands roamed my back, pulling me flush against him. I could feel every hard plane of his body, the way his muscles flexed and shifted beneath his clothes. Desire thrummed through my veins, hot and needy. I clutched at his shoulders, rising on my toes to press even closer.
His large hands cupped my face, tilting my head to the perfect angle as he explored my mouth thoroughly, fusing us together with every movement of our lips, our tongues, and our mouths until I wasn’t sure where I ended and he began.
After what seemed forever yet too soon, Fraser gentled the kiss before drawing back slightly. We were both breathing hard, our chests heaving in tandem. His eyes had changed to a darker green, pupils blown wide with arousal.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, one hand coming up to cup my cheek. His thumb brushed over my kiss-swollen lower lip, and I shivered. “I can’t believe I get to have this with you.”
