My stomach did that swooping thing, like missing thebottom step on a staircase. The same feeling I’d gotten that day at the resort when he’d steadied me with those strong hands. Heat crept up my neck, and I busied myself with retrieving the fallen textbook, hoping Tessa wouldn’t notice.
“Oh,” I managed, trying to sound as casual as possible while my heart hammered against my ribs. “That was nice of him.”
I practically fled from the house, mumbling something about getting more boxes from the car. Tessa had always been able to read me, and right now, I felt like an open book with highlighted passages and sticky notes pointing to every emotion I was trying to hide.
My feet carried me down the cracked concrete walkway toward my car, each step heavy with the bone-deep exhaustion from the six-hour drive from Detroit. The spring wind whipped around me, sharp and biting, but I barely noticed the cold through the numbness that had settled in somewhere around hour four on I-75.
Freedom should feel lighter than this.
The slam of a car door made me pause, and I looked up.
Chase stood there, his blue eyes warm and concerned as they swept over me. His hair was damp, curling slightly at the ends, and he wore a fresh flannel that clung to his broad shoulders. The scent of his soap drifted toward me on the breeze—that same clean, woodsy scent that had haunted my dreams for months.
“Hey, Doc.” His voice was soft, careful. Like he thought I might spook and run. Like he knew exactly how fragile this moment was. My throat tightened until I could barely breathe. After everything—the texts, the distance, the months of silence, the nights I’d stared at my phone wanting to call him—he wasstill here. Still looking at me like I mattered. Like I was worth waiting for.
“I hear you cleaned.” The words came out hoarse. My fingers twisted in the hem of my sweater, a nervous habit I’d developed during the worst months with Peter.
“Yeah, well.” He shrugged, taking a step closer. The pizza box in his hand steamed slightly in the cool air, and the six-pack dangled from his other hand. “Couldn’t let you move into a biohazard zone. Pretty sure that violates your Hippocratic oath or something.”
A startled laugh escaped me as I stared up at him, and suddenly, everything felt real. This cottage. This moment. This freedom. Tears welled in my eyes, blurring his face. So much had happened in the last few months. So many nights curled around my phone, reading his old messages. So many mornings covering bruises with concealer. So many carefully planned steps to get here, to this moment, to him.
“Chase...” My voice cracked on his name, all my carefully constructed walls crumbling at once.
He didn’t hesitate. Somehow managing to keep both the pizza and beer balanced, he pulled me into his chest with his free arm. The solid warmth of him felt like coming home—not the cold marble mansion I’d shared with Peter, but somewhere real and safe and mine.
Being in his arms again felt decadent. Forbidden. Perfect. As if an invisible weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I pressed my face into his flannel, breathing in his familiar scent. The tension I’d been carrying since Detroit—hell, since my mother died—melted away. I suddenly felt freer than I had in years.
He squeezed me tight and kissed the top of my head, his lips lingering there. “Hey, Sweetness.”
When he released me, his hand shifted to the back of my head, keeping me close as he stroked my hair. The gentle touch sent tingles down my spine—not from fear like Peter’s touches, but from something warm and electric and alive.
“How ya doin’?” His voice rumbled through his chest, and I could feel it where I was still pressed against him.
I pulled back quickly, putting a careful distance between us. “I’m... okay. Thank you. For cleaning. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Course I did.” He shifted the pizza box to his hip, keeping his tone casual. “Besides, you should’ve seen it before. Pretty sure something was living in that bathroom cabinet.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Do I want to know?”
“Nope.” His grin was friendly, nothing more. But his eyes... his eyes said everything we couldn’t. “But don’t worry, I killed it. Probably. Like, ninety percent sure.”
The screen door creaked, and Tessa and Elliot appeared on the porch. Tessa’s eyes moved between Chase and me with a flicker of... something. But she just said, “Oh good, you brought food! Elena’s been surviving on gas station coffee and protein bars since leaving Detroit.”
“Hey!” I protested, grateful for the distraction from Chase’s presence. “I had a perfectly good sandwich at that rest stop in Gaylord.”
“The one you took two bites of and then forgot about?” Tessa raised an eyebrow. “That sandwich?”
Elliot held the screen door open as we all filed inside andstood in the barren living room, surrounded by boxes, and looked around.Right. No furniture.
“Floor picnic?” Chase suggested, grinning and lowering himself to sit cross-legged on the worn hardwood. He set the pizza box in the middle of our makeshift circle, and the steam curled up when he opened it.
I sank down across from him, trying not to think about how domestic this felt. Tessa and Elliot settled on either side of us, Tessa passing out napkins she’d dug out of one of the kitchen boxes. Through the doorway, I could see my favorite room in the cottage—the kitchen, with its warm woods and cream-colored walls, and that big window over the sink that looked out onto the overgrown backyard.
“So,” Chase said, reaching for a slice of pizza. “How was the drive up?”
The question was meant for us all, but his eyes never left mine.
“Long. Just straight up I-75 for six hours,” Tessa said. “My playlist gave out somewhere past West Branch.” Her tone was casual, but I caught her quick glance between Chase and me.
