Chapter 12 #2
His mouth curved, quiet approval there. “Okay.” He shifted and rose, offering me a hand without urgency. I took it and we drifted toward the center shelves together.
The queer romance section really did feel like a shrine—fairy lights tucked between shelves, little handwritten cards recommending favorites.
“You read these?” I asked, surprised and not.
“Sometimes,” he said. “Mostly audiobooks these days. Easier while I’m restocking.”
“Favorite trope?” I asked before I could stop myself.
He huffed a laugh. “Age gap, apparently.”
I smiled despite myself.
“And second chances,” he said softly. “When you get to try again without being defined by the last ending.”
Something warm shifted low in my stomach.
“Found family,” I said. “Small towns. Holiday stuff.” I hesitated. “Second chances too.”
His gaze lingered on me, steady and intent. “Good to know.”
We drifted into authors after that. The usual names. A couple we both liked.
“Amerie Adams is my favorite,” I said, a little sheepish about how fast the words came out. “She’s got this whole series I’ve been dying to read.”
I moved closer to the shelf anyway, scanning spines, then crouched a little to check the lower row. Nothing. I straightened, eyes flicking once more down the aisle, like the books might’ve wandered off and come back while I wasn’t looking.
“Guess they don’t have her right now,” I said, shrugging it off.
Graeme hummed quietly beside me, not disagreeing.
“I’ll track them down eventually,” I added. “I’ve been putting it off, but everyone keeps telling me it’s worth it.”
I wasn’t sure how long we browsed after that. Long enough for the music to loop. Long enough for the shop to settle into a deeper hush. Long enough that it stopped feeling like a store and started feeling like a shared pocket of time.
At the counter, Jules rang us up while Graeme reached for his wallet.
I slid my card forward first. “Let me.”
He paused, then nodded. “All right. Thank you.”
We didn’t rush out afterward. We stood by the front window for a moment, books tucked between us, watching snow gather on the sill.
When we finally stepped back into the cold, it felt sharper. Graeme shifted our purchases into one arm and reached out with his free hand, fingers brushing mine in a quiet question.
I laced our fingers together.
His palm was warm. Big. Secure.
“In the mood for a walk?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said.
We ended up on a bench near the town square, our shopping bag between us. The big tree stood tall and bright, lights winking, ornaments gleaming. Kids ran circles around the base while their parents chatted.
For once, watching all that movement didn’t make my chest feel tight. It just… was. Life happening a few feet away, and me sitting in the middle of it without feeling like an impostor.
Graeme stretched his legs out, ankles crossing. His thigh brushed mine, solid and warm through our coats.
“So,” he said quietly. “Can I ask you something?”
My stomach did a small, nervous flip. “Of course.”
He smiled. “How are you feeling about… last night?”
I stared at my gloves, flexing my fingers inside the wool.
“At first I was a little embarrassed,” I admitted, “but you were so kind, the feeling went away fast.” Chuckling, I continued. “I thought I’d wake up and decide it was some kind of temporary break from reality, you know? Holiday magic. Brain glitch.” I huffed out a breath.
“What are you feeling?” His voice stayed soft, an invitation.
“Scared, maybe,” I said, honesty slipping out before I could wrap it in safer words. “Hopeful. Both at the same time. I haven’t… let myself be like that in a long time. Not really.” My throat thickened. “Nate—” I broke off, jaw tightening.
“His loss,” Graeme said quietly. “I know that doesn’t erase what he did. But it’s still true.”
The certainty in his tone did something strange to my breathing.
“Tell me more about your parents,” I said, needing to shift the focus a little before emotion fizzed over. “From what you’ve said about your parents they were two of the good ones.”
“They were.” He smiled, small and fond, eyes going somewhere I couldn’t see.
“My mom was the kind of woman who’d fix a leaky roof and then sit down and paint the house because ‘if we’re up here, we might as well make it pretty.
’ My dad… he was quieter. But he built things that lasted.
The greenhouse. That letter box for the Santa event.
The little benches half the town still uses. ”
“Were they… queer?” I asked, then winced. “Sorry, that sounded—”
“Like a question,” he said mildly. “It’s okay.
Yeah, they were both bi. They didn’t always have words for it, but they made sense of themselves together.
I grew up knowing that ‘normal’ meant… a lot of things.
Two moms, two dads, one of each, one alone doing their best. Winterhaven isn’t perfect, but it’s kinder, more tolerant than most places. ”
“Must’ve been nice,” I said before I could stop it.
“It was,” he said. “I didn’t really grasp how lucky we are in this small town until I started hearing other people’s stories from different parts of the country. Kids kicked out. Families cutting ties. Men my age who never told a soul.”
I watched his breath cloud the air as he exhaled.
“When did you know?” I asked.
“That I liked men?” His mouth tipped wryly. “Middle school, probably. There was a boy in my class who always smelled like oranges. I realized one day I was more interested in kissing him than in algebra.”
I snorted. “Relatable.”
“And you?” he asked gently.
“Too young for it to make sense to anyone else,” I said.
“I liked… softness. Boys, girls, whoever. But boys made me feel… something. I didn’t have words for bi or queer or anything.
I just knew that when I looked at certain guys on TV, my brain melted a little—and that felt like if anyone found out, it could be dangerous for me.
” I swallowed. “It was easier not to talk about it. Foster homes aren’t exactly known for being safe places to unpack your sexuality. ”
His jaw tightened, just a fraction. “Did anyone ever make you feel unsafe about it?”
“Not in the way you’re thinking,” I said quickly.
“No one hit me or anything. It was more…” I searched for the right words.
“Being ‘too much’ of everything. Too sensitive, too quiet, too dreamy, too… not straight. You learn to tuck things away. To make yourself small enough that no one notices what might be ‘wrong’ with you.”
“And Mrs. Davis?” he asked.
“She noticed,” I said, smiling faintly. “In a good way. She never made a big speech about it. Just put a little rainbow sticker on the fridge one day and said, ‘You know everyone’s welcome in this house, right?’ Then went back to making mac and cheese.” My chest squeezed. “It was enough.”
He was quiet for a moment.
“I’m glad you had her,” he said finally. “And I’m glad you’re here now.”
The here felt like more than a place.
I looked around us, a little surprised that we were now the only people around. Then I turned to look at him fully. His eyes met mine, open, no pity there—just a kind of grounded affection that made my stomach tremble.
“I like being with you,” I said, the words scraping raw on the way out. “Like this. Grown.”
A slow smile curved his mouth. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I like taking care of all of you. Not just the soft parts.”
My heart did a little somersault. Heat climbed my neck.
He reached up, fingers brushing a strand of my hair back from my forehead. The touch was light, but it sent a shiver down my spine.
“Rudy,” he said quietly.
“Yeah?” My voice came out breathier than I’d intended.
“I want to kiss you,” he said. “Can I?”
It was ridiculous how much that question undid me. The fact that he asked. That he didn’t just lean in and assume the answer.
“Yes,” I said, barely louder than the breeze. “Please.”
He cupped my jaw with one big, warm hand, thumb resting lightly at the hinge. I felt the callus there, rough and familiar now. He leaned in slowly enough that I could have changed my mind at any point.
No way would I do that.
His mouth met mine, soft at first—just a press, a hello. Then I exhaled against his lips and something in both of us shifted.
The kiss deepened.
I parted my lips and he followed the invitation, tongue sliding against mine in a slow, unhurried stroke that made my toes curl in my boots. His other hand settled on my hip, fingers flexing once, a barely-there pull that still managed to send heat rushing through me.
I made a small sound into his mouth—half gasp, half whimper. My body leaned toward him like it had its own gravity.
He tasted like mint and the coffee he’d sipped earlier, and something that was just… him.
His thumb stroked my jaw, soothing even as the kiss turned heavier. I shifted closer on the bench, knees knocking his, chest brushing his arm, needing the contact like air.
I was aware, suddenly and sharply, of the hard line of him where our hips brushed. He was trying to be careful, keep a little space there, but with the way I’d moved, there was no room left.
Heat sparked through me.
I pressed in, just slightly.
His breath caught against my mouth.
Rough pleasure fizzed through my veins at the proof that he wanted me. Not just gentle, not just protective—wanted.
I rolled my hips again, barely a shift, but enough.
He broke the kiss with a quiet groan, forehead resting against mine. His hand on my hip tightened.
“Careful, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice rougher than I’d ever heard it. “If we keep going like that, I’m going to get carried away.”
A wild, reckless part of me didn’t care. Another part—the one that still felt ten, twelve, fifteen and terrified of messing things up—tugged at my sleeve from the inside.
I swallowed hard, trying to slow my breathing.
“Okay,” I whispered. “Sorry, I just—”
“Don’t apologize,” he said at once. He pulled back enough to look me in the eye, his thumb brushing the corner of my mouth where our kiss had left my lips tender. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I liked it.”
“Oh,” I said, dizzy with relief.
“I just…” He huffed out a breath, a smile ghosting over his face. “I want us to have space when we do more than kiss. Somewhere we don’t have to stop ourselves.”
His gaze flicked briefly toward the street. “Not with Tom’s patrol car probably two blocks over and half the town liable to wander past. Hallelujah for good timing, though.”
I snorted, the image ridiculous and weirdly grounding. “That’s… fair.”
His gaze softened. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I let out a shaky laugh. “Better than okay, actually.”
“Good.” He pressed a quick, sweet kiss to the tip of my nose, somehow both tender and utterly shameless. “Come on. Walk you back?”
“Yeah,” I said again, because apparently that was the only word my brain knew around him.
I thought about Mrs. Davis, about Letters to Tomorrow, about all the wishes I’d never dared write down.
Maybe I hadn’t outgrown wishes after all.
Maybe I’d just been waiting for the right person, the right place, to make one feel possible.
For the first time in a very long time, the future didn’t feel like something barreling toward me too fast.
It felt like a story I might actually want to stay for.