“Enjoyed it? That’s an understatement.” He chuckled, the sound low and rich. His hand came up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing over my still-slick bottom lip. “Can I take care of you?”
I considered it, then shook my head. “This w-was for you. Not as a f-form of p-payment, but because I l-l…”
The word almost rolled off my lips, and I stopped, shocked to my core. It was too soon. I wasn’t ready for that. We weren’t ready.
…l-like seeing you happy. Enj-joying yourself.”
If Fraser caught my change of course, he didn’t comment on it. “Are you sure? You know I love touching and pleasuring you.”
“I kn-know. And I love that about you. But tonight, I w-wanted it to be about you. About m-making you feel g-good.” I traced my fingers along his jaw, marveling at the contrast of his dark stubble against my pale skin. “We’ll have t-time for me later.”
Fraser turned his head to press a kiss to my palm. “If you’re sure. But I’m holding you to that ‘later,’ sweetheart.”
“I’m c-counting on it,” I murmured, leaning in to brush my lips over his. The kiss stayed soft and sweet, an affirmation rather than a rekindling of the earlier heat.
We lay like that for a while, exchanging gentle touches and kisses, basking in the afterglow. Eventually, Fraser shifted topull the comforter over us, and I curled into his side. His heartbeat was a steady, comforting thrum beneath my ear.
My mind wandered to what had almost slipped out earlier. Those three little words that had been on the tip of my tongue, aching to be spoken aloud. I knew in my heart they were true, that what I felt for Fraser went far beyond mere fondness or lust. It was a deep, abiding affection that had taken root inside me, growing stronger each day we spent together.
But saying those words aloud would make it real in a way I wasn’t ready for. Not yet. Not when the ghost of my past still lingered, an ever-present specter reminding me of all I’d lost. Of all I had to lose. It was too soon, too fast, too much. We’d only been together for a short time. Saying “I love you” now would be reckless, no matter how true it felt.
I couldn’t bear it if I laid my heart bare only to have it handed back to me.
So I bit my tongue and held the words inside, even as they burned in my throat, aching for release. There would be time. Time to be sure, to let this settle and take root.
For now, I would savor this closeness, this perfect moment of contentment in his arms. I nuzzled closer, breathing him in, letting his warmth and solidity anchor me.
“Stay tonight?” I asked softly, tilting my head to look at him.
He was already asleep.
Inhaling deeply, I closed my eyes and let go.
20
FRASER
The first snow of winter arrived two weeks later, transforming Forestville into something out of a Christmas card. Fat flakes drifted past the kitchen window as I nursed my second cup of coffee, watching the world turn white and quiet. My knee ached with the weather change, a dull throb that had become as familiar as breathing.
Calloway was still asleep upstairs. We’d fallen into an easy rhythm—most nights at his place, some at mine, the boundaries between our lives blurring in ways that brought a profound joy. Most of my clothes had made their way into his closets and drawers, and on Sundays—laundry day, according to Calloway’s schedule—we now washed both our clothes.
My phone buzzed with a text from Morrison, another update about the January training program. Equipment lists, housing options, and schedule confirmations. Each message made it more real, more imminent. Four weeks away from this quiet life I’d built. Four weeks away with Calloway.
But not away from him. I still couldn’t believe he’d said yes to coming with me, brave and terrified in equal measure. We’d found a small house in Missoula that we were renting forthat period, a space where we could create our own temporary sanctuary. The thought of showing him my old world, of having him there to come home to after long days of teaching, made the whole thing feel less like a step backward and more like integration. Past and present. Who I was and who I was becoming.
I heard movement upstairs—the creak of floorboards, water running. A few minutes later, Calloway appeared in the doorway, wearing one of my flannels over his pajama pants. His hair was adorably mussed, and he still had pillow creases on his cheek.
“M-morning,” he mumbled, making a beeline for the coffee pot.
“Morning, sweetheart.” The endearment had become natural, slipping out without thought. “Sleep well?”
He nodded, pouring coffee with the focused attention of someone not quite awake yet. When he’d doctored it to his liking—two sugars, no cream—he settled into the chair beside me, our knees touching under the table.
“S-snow,” he observed, gazing out the window.
“First real snow of the season. The weather report says we might get four inches.”
“Good day to st-stay inside.”
