Chapter 8 #2
"Tempting," I admit, forcing myself to step back. "But I really do need to write. My editor would kill me if she knew I was prioritizing incredible sex over my deadline."
His laugh is warm and rich. "Incredible, you say?"
"You know it was." I smooth my hands down his chest. "Which is why I need to focus on work for a few hours, or we'll never leave this kitchen."
"Fine." He sighs dramatically, though his eyes are bright with humor. "Be responsible."
"I'll make it up to you later," I promise, the boldness of the statement surprising me.
"I'll hold you to that." The look he gives me promises all sorts of delicious retribution.
We part reluctantly, Tom heading to get ready for his station run while I set up my laptop in the living room.
After he leaves, the words come easily, my fingers flying across the keyboard as I channel the emotions of the past twelve hours into my characters.
My heroine, once hesitant and wounded, now blossoms with newfound confidence.
My hero, initially closed off and wary, gradually reveals his tender heart.
Art imitating life, or perhaps the other way around.
Two hours and nearly three thousand words later, my phone chimes with a text. From Mason, not Tom as I'd hoped.
Mason: How's the writing going?
I smile, imagining my brother's reaction if he knew exactly how well things were progressing, both professionally and personally.
Me: Better than ever. Almost 20k words in a week and a half.
His reply comes quickly.
Mason: That's fantastic! The change of scenery must be working wonders.
I debate how much to share. Mason is my brother, but he's also Tom's therapist. There must be professional boundaries I shouldn't ask him to cross.
Me: Scenery is beautiful. Whisper Vale has been exactly what I needed.
A slight evasion, but not untrue. Before he can respond, another text comes through.
Mason: How's Tom treating you? Keeping his grumpy sheriff routine to a minimum?
Heat rises to my face. If only he knew.
Me: He's been surprisingly accommodating. We're getting along well.
An understatement of epic proportions, but it will have to do. Mason's response makes me laugh out loud.
Mason: 'Surprisingly accommodating' sounds like code for something. Spill it, sis.
I can almost see his raised eyebrow. Deciding to tease him a little, I respond.
Me: Nothing to spill. Just discovering the sheriff has hidden depths. Very deep, very satisfying hidden depths.
Three dots appear, disappear, then reappear.
Mason: I'm choosing to interpret that in the most innocent way possible. For my professional sanity.
I laugh again, imagining his discomfort.
Me: Probably wise.
Mason: How's the cabin situation? Heard anything about when the heater might be fixed?
The question seems innocent enough, but it makes me pause. I haven't even thought about the cabin in days.
Me: Tom hasn't mentioned it. Honestly, I haven't asked.
Mason: Interesting that you're not in a rush to get back to your own space.
I can practically see his therapist expression through the text.
Me: The arrangement's working out fine.
Mason: I can tell. You sound different, Kelsie. Happier. Tom Parker seems to be good for you.
I hesitate before responding, wondering how much Mason is picking up on.
Me: He's not what I expected.
Mason: The best people rarely are. Just be careful with your heart. And his. He's been through more than most people realize.
His cryptic response makes me wonder exactly what he means. Before I can ask, he texts again.
Mason: Not breaking any confidences here. Just speaking as someone who cares about you both.
Something about his wording strikes me. Does he know what's developing between Tom and me? Is he... encouraging it?
Me: I'm not planning to hurt him, if that's what you're worried about.
Mason: Good. Because behind all that gruff sheriff exterior is someone worth taking a chance on. If you were so inclined.
Now I'm certain he's nudging me toward exactly what's already happening.
Me: I'll keep that in mind.
Before I can decipher his motives further, my phone chimes with a text from Tom.
Tom: Got good news and bad news. Bad news is I'm running about 30 minutes late.
Good news is I just heard from property management.
Cabin heater parts delayed another two weeks.
Hope you don't mind being stuck with me a bit longer.
Miss you, by the way. The station feels empty without you stopping by.
My heart shouldn't flutter at a simple text about timing and heaters, but the casual ‘miss you’ sends warmth spreading through my chest. Relief floods through me at the news about the delay, followed immediately by guilt.
I shouldn't be happy about broken heating systems. Yet I can't deny the surge of joy at the thought of more time here.
More mornings waking in Tom's arms. More evenings sharing meals and stories and touches that ignite something I thought long extinguished.
Me: The first bit is disappointing, but I can be patient.
As for the second... I think I can manage two more weeks of your company.
I miss you too. The house is too quiet without your grumpy presence.
His response comes quickly.
Tom: Grumpy, huh? I'll show you grumpy later. Meet at 1:30?
Me: Perfect. I'm still writing. See you then.
I set my phone aside, trying to refocus on my manuscript.
The words continue to flow, but now they're tinged with a new awareness.
My characters' developing relationship feels more authentic, their emotions more nuanced.
The physical scenes between them carry an intensity born of personal experience rather than imagination.
For years, I've written about the transformative power of love. The healing that comes from being truly seen and accepted. The courage required to open oneself to possibility after pain. I thought I understood these themes on an intellectual level.
Now, as words pour from my fingertips, I realize how superficial my understanding has been. How theoretical rather than lived. In just over a week, Tom has shown me more about vulnerability and courage than I learned in three years of marriage.
The thought is terrifying. Exhilarating. And completely unexpected.
At one fifteen, I save my document and close my laptop. Nearly four thousand words today, on a Sunday no less. My fingers ache pleasantly, my mind buzzing with more scenes already taking shape. I haven't felt this creatively fulfilled in years, perhaps ever.
I change into slightly warmer clothes for our walk, layering a long sleeved shirt under a fleece pullover. The temperatures have dropped again, according to my weather app. I'm just lacing up my boots when I hear the front door open.
"Kelsie?" Tom's voice carries from the entryway.
"Coming!" I call back, giving myself a quick glance in the mirror.
I find him downstairs, cheeks flushed from cold, snowflakes melting in his dark hair. He's changed into jeans and a heavy flannel shirt that makes his shoulders look even broader. His expression when he sees me is worth every moment of anticipation.
"Hi," I say, suddenly shy despite everything we've shared.
"Hi." His voice is soft, his eyes warm as they take me in. "Ready for that walk?"
"Ready." I reach for my coat, our fingers brushing as he helps me into it.
Outside, the afternoon sun gleams on fresh snow, the world transformed into a winter wonderland while I was lost in words. Tom's hand finds mine as we walk, our gloved fingers intertwining naturally.
I can't remember the last time I felt this content, this present in a moment.
Perhaps I never have. The crisp mountain air fills my lungs, Tom's solid presence beside me grounds me in ways I'm only beginning to understand, and ahead stretches a path neither of us could have anticipated but both seem eager to explore.
Whatever happens when the cabin heater is fixed, when Christmas passes, when real life demands decisions, I know with absolute certainty that I will never be the same. Tom Parker has changed me, awakened me, in ways that transcend the physical pleasure we've discovered together.
The real question now is whether I'm brave enough to embrace that change when the time comes to choose. Whether the woman who's finding her voice in Whisper Vale has the courage to rewrite her own story.
As Tom squeezes my hand, pointing out the frozen lake ahead, I silently promise myself to find out.