Chapter 10
Kevin
I wake up to Steph’s warm weight in my arms.
Not on the couch. Not listening to her breath through a thin wall. Here. In her bed. Where I belong.
She's curled up at my side, her head on my chest, one hand resting over my heart. Her hair is a mess, tickling my jaw, and she's making these soft little sounds in her sleep that make my chest tight with something I don't have words for.
This is what I've been waiting for.
Not just the sex—though God knows that was incredible—but this. The morning after. Waking up with her in my arms, knowing she's mine and I'm hers, and nothing about it is fake or temporary or pretend.
This is real.
I press a kiss to the top of her head, breathing her in, and let myself just feel it. The weight of her against me. The steady rhythm of her breathing. The absolute certainty that I never want to wake up any other way.
She stirs, making a soft noise, and I know the exact moment she wakes up. Her body tenses, then relaxes as memory floods back.
"Morning," I say.
She tilts her head up, eyes still heavy with sleep, and the smile that crosses her face is worth every second I waited for her.
"Good morning, boyfriend," she says, her voice rough and beautiful.
My heart does something complicated in my chest. "Good morning, girlfriend."
She stretches against me like a cat, and I'm very aware that we're both still naked under these sheets. Her hand slides up my chest, and she leans in to press a kiss to my jaw.
"How'd you sleep?" she asks.
"Best I've slept in months," I admit. "You?"
"Same." She kisses me again, this time on the mouth, sweet and perfect. "I could get used to this."
"Good," I say, rolling her onto her back so I can look at her properly. "Because I plan on making this a permanent arrangement."
She laughs, reaching up to cup my face. "Permanent, huh?"
"As permanent as you'll let me be."
Her expression softens. "I love you."
"I love you too, sweetheart." I kiss her forehead, her nose, her mouth. "Now, how about I make you coffee?"
"You're going to spoil me."
"That's the plan."
Twenty minutes later, we're in her tiny kitchen. I'm wearing my jeans from yesterday, and Steph's in an oversized t-shirt and sleep shorts, her hair pulled into a messy knot. The coffee maker is gurgling, and I'm leaning against the counter watching her add an obscene amount of sugar to her mug.
This. I want this every morning for the rest of my life.
The thought doesn't scare me. It settles into my chest as if it's always been there, just waiting for me to acknowledge it.
"What?" Steph asks, catching me staring.
"Nothing," I say, pulling her against me. "Just thinking about how much I—"
My phone rings, cutting me off.
The chief's name lights up the screen, and my entire body goes on alert. I glance at Steph, who's already tensing.
"Dawes," I answer, putting it on speaker.
"Kevin, it's Chief. Got some news for you." There's satisfaction in his voice, and I feel the first flicker of hope. "We've got Elliott in custody. Thought you'd want to know."
Relief crashes through me so hard my knees almost buckle. Steph's hand finds mine, squeezing tight.
"What happened?" I ask.
"Multiple townspeople called in reports early this morning.
Elliott was spotted lurking around Steph's apartment building.
" The chief pauses. "Mrs. Patterson across the way got video of him trying door handles, peering in windows.
Lottie Carmichael called it in the moment she saw him on her morning walk.
Tony from The Lucky Tap spotted him in the parking lot and followed at a distance while calling us. "
Steph's eyes are wide, her hand trembling in mine.
"Martinez and two other officers caught him red-handed," the chief continues. "Clear restraining order violation. Multiple witnesses, video evidence. This isn't going away, Kevin. We've got him, the idiot."
"What about bail?" I ask, my voice tight.
"He's being held without bail pending the hearing. Given the stalking behavior, the multiple violations, and the evidence we have? His lawyer can't save him this time. The charges are going to stick."
I close my eyes, letting the words sink in. "Thank you, Chief."
"This town takes care of its own, Dawes. You know that." There's warmth in his voice. "Give Steph our best. And tell her she's got an entire police department backing her up."
“Thanks Chief, will do.” When I hang up, Steph is just standing there, staring at the phone in my hand.
"It's over?" she whispers.
"It's over."
She doesn't move. Doesn't speak. Just stands there processing, and I can see the exact moment it hits her.
"They did that for me?" Her voice breaks. "Mrs. Patterson, Lottie, Tony—they all—"
"You're one of theirs, Steph. One of ours." I pull her into my arms, holding her tight. "Of course they did."
She breaks then, not with fear but with relief. With gratitude. With the overwhelming realization that she's not alone and never has been.
I hold her while she cries, pressing kisses to her hair, murmuring reassurances.
"It's over," I tell her. "He can't hurt you anymore. And you didn't have to face it alone."
She pulls back, wiping at her eyes. "I didn't have to do anything. They just... took care of it."
"That's what our community does." I brush a tear from her cheek. "That's what family does."
She lets out a shaky laugh. "Thank God for fake relationships, right? Otherwise, Elliott never would've backed off long enough for them to catch him."
I cup her face in both hands, making sure she's looking at me. "It was never fake, sweetheart. Not for a second."
Her breath catches. "Kevin—"
"I meant what I said last night. And this morning. And every moment in between." I kiss her. "I love you. This is real. We're real."
"We're real," she repeats, testing the words. Then she smiles, bright and genuine. "We're really real."
"Yeah, sweetheart. We are."
We finish our coffee in comfortable silence, the tension of the past weeks lifting. Steph is quiet, processing everything, but there's a lightness to her now that wasn't there before.
"I'm starving," she announces, setting down her mug. "Want to make breakfast?" She gives me a cute smile and bats her eyelashes at me.
I chuckle, unable to deny her anything. "What are you in the mood for?"
"Eggs? Toast? Something that isn't a casserole from Lottie?"
I laugh, kiss her, sit her on the stool, and move to the fridge. "I can make eggs."
We talk while I make us breakfast, and when I sit down next to her, we give each other sweet kisses, stealing bites of each other's food, and finding any excuse to touch each other. It's domestic, simple, and perfect.
This is what I want. Every morning. Every day.
"You know," Steph says, leaning against the counter with a piece of toast in hand, "you're basically moved in at this point."
I glance at her. "Is that okay?"
"More than okay." She smiles. "I enjoy having you here."
"Good." I flip the eggs, then turn to face her. "Because you're moving in with me."
She blinks. "What?"
"You're moving in with me," I repeat, more certain this time. "My place. The family home."
"Kevin, I can't just—"
"Rachel and Levi got their own house last year," I interrupt.
"It's just been me rattling around in there ever since. Three bedrooms, a real chef’s kitchen, a yard.
Space for both of us." I cross to her, taking her hands.
"I want you there, Steph. I want you to come home to me every day and to wake up with you every morning. In our house."
Her eyes are bright with emotion. "Our house?"
"Our house," I confirm. "If you want it."
"I—" she swallows hard. "Are you sure? This is a big step."
"I've never been more sure of anything in my life." I squeeze her hands. "I love you. I want to build a life with you. And that starts with us having a home together. A proper home."
A tear slips down her cheek, and she's smiling so wide it makes my chest ache.
"Yes," she whispers. "Yes, I'll move in with you."
Relief and joy flood through me in equal measure. I pull her into my arms, lifting her off the ground and spinning her once before setting her down to kiss her properly.
"We're doing this," she says against my mouth, laughing. "We're really doing this."
"Yeah, sweetheart. We are."
We finish eating and cleaning up breakfast, but now there's excitement in the air. We're talking logistics—when to pack, what furniture to keep, which bedroom will be the office and which will be the guest room.
"I can't believe I'm moving in with you," Steph says, shaking her head. "A week ago we were friends, then fake dating, and now."
"A week ago you were lying to yourself about how you felt," I correct, grinning.
She throws the dishcloth at me, but smiles.
I catch it and lay it out on the counter to dry before wrapping my arms around her and kissing the daylights out of her. “So, do you want to check out our house or go back to bed?”
She rolls her eyes and says, “Seriously? What kind of question is that?” She steps back. “Bed, of course.” Then she runs off toward the bedroom, and I chase her, excited for the life I’m going to have with the woman of my heart. My person.