Free

Chapter 32

THIRTY-TWO

Nick

I collapse beside Charlie and pull her close, her body fitting perfectly against mine like we were designed for this. She buries her face in my chest, her breath warm and steady as my hands press firmly against her back, grounding us both in the moment. The rapid thrum of my pulse begins to slow, syncing with the rise and fall of her breathing. The room is quiet, filled only with the soft hum of contentment that wraps around us like a second skin.

I press a lingering kiss to her forehead, brushing her hair back from her face with a tenderness I didn’t know I was capable of. When I finally crane my neck to meet her gaze, those beautiful eyes of hers catch mine—open, unguarded, shining with something that looks a lot like peace.

“You okay?” My voice is low, a little raw.

She doesn’t look away. Doesn’t even hesitate. “More than okay,” she says, her words soft but weighted, like a promise. “I’ve wanted that for a long time.”

“Me too.”

Charlie presses up onto her elbow, her fingers trailing along my brow with a featherlight touch that sends sparks skittering across my skin. Her gaze sweeps over my face, lingering like she’s trying to commit every detail to memory—the faint lines at the corners of my eyes, the curve of my jaw, the places where life has etched its mark. When her eyes finally lock with mine, they shimmer with a mix of humor and something deeper that steals the air from my lungs.

“For the record,” she says, a teasing lilt in her voice, “I thought you said last night wasn’t about that.”

I chuckle, the sound rumbling low in my chest. “Exactly, Wildrose. Last night . I never said anything about this morning.”

Her brow quirks, curiosity lighting her eyes. “Wildrose?”

“Yeah.” I trace a fingertip along her jaw, a smirk tugging at my lips. “From Wildrose Landing. But it fits. You’re a little wild, and you’ve got thorns when you need ’em. Beautiful, though. Always.”

She shakes her head, but she’s smiling, her cheeks flushed. “You’re something else, Nick Hutton.”

“I’m yours, Wildrose.”

Her laugh is soft, musical, and it wraps around me in a way that feels like home.

I hadn’t planned any of this—hadn’t planned on asking her to stay, hadn’t planned on crossing the line we’ve danced around for years. But here we are, and as I lie beside her now, there isn’t a single moment I would take back. I press up onto my own elbow to match her posture, and now we’re face-to-face, so close I can feel the warmth of her breath against my lips. Heart to heart. Skin to skin.

I lean in, resting my forehead against hers, my hand slipping to the nape of her neck where my fingers thread through her hair. There’s so much I want to say, but the words stick in my throat. How do I thank her for staying? For making me feel whole for the first time in so damn long? For bringing light into a part of me I thought was too dark to reach? The weight of it presses against my chest, too big to put into words, so I hope the gesture is enough.

Charlie tilts her chin, brushing her lips against mine, just a whisper of a touch, soft and fleeting. But then she does it again, and this time, there’s something more behind it. Hunger. Longing. A need that mirrors my own. Her breath hitches, and I’m lost in the sound. The rustle of sheets follows, soft and slow, as the space between us disappears entirely.

My dick throbs, then lengthens, aching for her. Her slender hand reaches between us, caressing my shaft, circling my crown. She smiles as she kisses me, a low moan of pleasure sounding in her chest. I wrap a hand around her waist and roll onto my back, inviting her to sit astride me. She slowly lowers herself into position. I grip her hips. Our eyes meet.

And then I lose myself to her.

“Are you hungry? I’m hungry.” Charlie stands in the middle of my kitchen, still wearing the T-shirt I’ve loved since boot camp. On her, it’s a completely different story. The thing nearly swallows her whole but somehow drapes and clings to her in the sexiest way I’ve ever seen a woman wear a shirt. She’s a vision, wild hair, flushed cheeks, and eyes glinting with a mix of mischief and contentment.

I will never look at that shirt the same again.

“Where are your pans?” she continues, glancing around the kitchen. “I can make some mean scrambled eggs.”

“Or,” I say, closing the distance between us because I can’t not touch her, “we could go to Fred DiMarco’s chicken truck. Follow one religious experience with another.”

She flushes, and the sight sends a jolt straight through me. “I’d remind you that you need to check in on your relationship with God, but…” Her voice drops, softer now. “What we did in there was pretty special.”

I slide my hands under the shirt, savoring the warmth of her skin as I trace the curve of her back, and then kiss her slow and deep. She sighs against me, her fingers curling into my shirt like she doesn’t want to let go.

“Come on,” I murmur against her lips, nuzzling her neck and savoring the way she melts into me. “Let’s get dressed so I can feed you. You’re gonna need energy for the things I have in mind.”

Her laughter rings out, bright and free, and it’s the sweetest sound I’ve heard in years.

Thirty minutes later, we pull to a stop in front of the Cluckin’ Good Chicken Truck, parked by a busy stretch of beach. The line snakes down the boardwalk, and the air is alive with the mingling scents of fried chicken, fresh rolls, and the salty tang of the ocean breeze. My stomach growls, and Charlie slips her hand into mine, leaning her head on my shoulder as we join the line.

Fred DiMarco’s booming laugh reaches us even before we see him. He’s greeting every customer like they’re family, slinging compliments and jokes along with his legendary sandwiches. The sun is bright but the breeze is cool, carrying the sound of waves and laughter from the beach. The whole day feels like a dream I never want to wake up from.

“Well, if it isn’t Nick Hutton and his lady friend.” Fred’s grin could rival the sun as he leans across the counter to greet us. “Now, I thought I remembered you telling me there was nothin’ going on here, even though it sure looked like a whole lot of somethin’ to me.”

Fred wags a finger at me, then turns his grin on Charlie. “This looks even more like somethin’ than it did when you were in your wedding dress, and that’s sayin’ a lot.”

Charlie’s cheeks flush as she laughs, the sound light and easy. “It’s a long story. But a good one, I think.”

I catch her gaze, the warmth in her eyes making my chest feel too full. “No complaints here.”

Fred chuckles, winking as he sets to work. “Well, if you ever feel like sharin’, I’d be honored to hear it. But for now, I know what you need. Two chicken sandwiches comin’ right up.”

As Fred busies himself, I glance at Charlie. “You only think it’s a good story?”

Her smile turns coy. “I didn’t want to speak for you.”

I lean down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “It’s a good one,” I whisper, my voice low and certain.

Fred hands us our food with a flourish, and we thank him before finding a bench a few feet away. Charlie unwraps her sandwich, taking a huge bite, her eyes closing as she lets out a satisfied hum.

“Okay, yep,” she says around a mouthful. “Between you, the view, and now this food, this might officially be the best day ever.”

I take a bite of my own, savoring the explosion of flavor, but it’s not the sandwich that has me feeling like a man I barely remember. It’s Charlie. It’s the way she looks at me, the way she laughs, the way this moment feels so simple and perfect that I could live in it forever.

I moan in appreciation and Charlie turns to me, something wicked in her eyes. “You have no idea what that sound does to me.”

“What sound?”

“That moan,” she whispers, her cheeks turning pink. “It’s… um… very appealing.”

I grin, taking another exaggerated bite and letting out an even louder moan. Two women passing by stop mid-conversation to give me wide-eyed stares.

“See!” Charlie swats my arm, her laughter bubbling over. “Very appealing.”

We finish eating, the conversation flowing as easily as the laughter. For once, I’m not weighed down by the usual shadows. I’m not second-guessing every word or holding myself back. I’m just here, with her, in the sun, letting myself feel everything.

She brushes a crumb off her lap, leaning back with a smile that’s both playful and serious. “I like you like this,” she says, her head tilting as her eyes search mine.

“Like what?”

“Like you used to be,” she says simply.

Her words fill the hollow spaces inside me with something warm and steady. She’s right. I do feel lighter. Happier. Like I’m finally remembering who I was before everything fell apart.

I take her hand, lacing our fingers together, and give it a gentle squeeze. “I like me like this too,” I say, the words honest and raw. “And I think you might have something to do with it.”

Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t look away. She squeezes my hand back, her smile glowing with warmth.

We sit there a while longer, watching the waves roll in and out, the sound of the ocean mingling with the distant chatter of the boardwalk. For the first time in years, I’m not in a hurry to move on or distract myself.

I’m here.

Fully.

Completely.

Here.

With her.