Forbidden Seal (Northern Nights #6)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER

ONE

GARRISON

I lean against the doorway of David’s kitchen, nursing a drink I haven’t touched in ten minutes, watching him laugh like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

Which is ironic, because turning fifty should freak him out more. Or at least that’s what I used to think.

“Hey,” I call over the noise, raising my glass. “You’re ancient now. How does it feel?”

David grins, wide and unapologetic, the same grin he had when we were twenty and thought we owned the world. “Feels like I can still take you in a fight.”

I snort. “You couldn’t take me when we were twenty.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves me off, already getting pulled into another conversation by a group of guests crowding around the cake. “Go grab yourself another drink. You look like you’re suffering.”

I glance down at my barely-touched glass and shrug. “Maybe I am.”

Truth is, I’m not much for parties like this anymore. Too loud. Too many people I don’t know. Too many reminders that time doesn’t slow down just because you want it to.

I slip away before anyone else can rope me into small talk and head toward the back of the house. The noise dulls with every step until I reach the door leading into the garage. It’s cooler out there. Quieter. I push the door open and step inside.

The garage smells faintly like motor oil and sawdust, the way it always has. David’s old workbench is still shoved against the wall, tools scattered across it like he might come out here any second and start fixing something.

There’s a cooler sitting on the ground near the fridge.

I pop it open, reaching in—

And then I freeze. Someone’s already here.

She’s sitting on the edge of the ladder, one leg dangling, the other bent slightly, a bottle of beer loosely held in her hand. Her hair falls over one shoulder in soft waves, catching the low light from the single bulb overhead.

Willow. David’s daughter. All of nineteen years old.

I haven’t seen her in… what, a couple of years? Last time I remember, she still had braces and a messy ponytail and used to follow us around asking a million questions.

This is not that girl.

My eyes move before I can stop them. Down the line of her legs. The curve of her hips. The way her shirt fits just enough to suggest more than it shows.

Then back up. And when my gaze meets hers—

She’s already looking at me. A slow, knowing kind of look.

Like she caught me. Shit. I shut my eyes for half a second, dragging in a breath.

What am I doing?

This is David’s daughter. I should turn around. Walk right back into that noisy house and pretend I needed something else. Pretend I didn’t just—

Yeah. That’s exactly what I should do.

I straighten, already shifting my weight to leave, when her voice stops me.

“Garrison?”

My name sounds different coming from her now.

Softer. Warmer.

Older.

I pause, hand still on the cooler lid, and glance back over my shoulder.

She tilts her head slightly, studying me like I’m the interesting one here. “You’re just going to grab a beer and leave without saying hi?”

There’s a hint of amusement in her tone. Like she knows exactly what just happened. I let out a slow breath and turn back fully, pushing the cooler lid closed.

“Didn’t want to interrupt anything,” I say.

“You’re not.” She lifts her bottle slightly. “Just hiding.”

I huff out a quiet laugh. “Yeah. That obvious?”

“A little.” Her lips curve. “You’ve never liked big crowds.”

That stops me. Because she remembers that.

I step a little closer, leaning back against the fridge this time, putting a safe amount of space between us. “You always were observant.”

“Still am.”

There’s a beat of silence. Not awkward. Just… charged. And I don’t like that.

I clear my throat. “You look—” I cut myself off before I finish that sentence the wrong way. “Different.”

Her smile deepens, like she hears the part I didn’t say. “I hope so.”

I run a hand over the back of my neck. “Yeah. I mean—college’ll do that.”

“Not just college.”

Something in the way she says it makes my chest tighten. I glance at her again—really look this time—and it hits me all over again.

She’s not a kid. Not even close. And that realization is exactly why I need to get out of this garage.

I push off the fridge. “I should—uh—get back out there. Your dad’s probably wondering where I went.”

“Garrison.”

My name again. I stop. She hops down from the ladder, landing softly on the concrete, and takes a step toward me. Not too close. Just enough.

“You always do that,” she says.

“Do what?”

“Avoid things.”

I raise a brow. “That so?”

“Yeah.” She takes a small sip of her drink, eyes never leaving mine.

I let out a low breath, half amused, half uneasy. “You think you’ve got me figured out?”

“I think…” She hesitates, just for a second. Then— “I think you don’t give yourself enough credit.”

There’s something about the way she says it. Like she thinks she knows me. I’ve never seen her act this—forward. But I cannot afford to read more into this situation than what is actually there.

I shift my weight, trying to shake off whatever this is. “You sound older than nineteen.”

“Maybe I am.”

I chuckle under my breath. “Your dad would hate hearing that.”

She smiles again, softer this time. “He doesn’t need to know everything.”

That lands heavier than it should. I glance toward the door, then back at her.

Still watching me. Still… there.

And for some reason, I’m still here too. I should leave. I know I should.

But instead, I hear myself say, “So… hiding out here all night?”

Her eyes flicker with something—surprise, maybe. Or satisfaction.

“Maybe,” she says. “Depends.”

“On what?”

She lifts one shoulder in a small shrug. “On whether I have company.”

There it is again. That pull. Subtle. Very dangerous.

I exhale slowly, shaking my head like I can clear it. “Willow—”

“Relax,” she interrupts lightly. “We’re just talking.”

Just talking. Right. I glance at the door one more time. Then back at her. And this time… I don’t move. That’s the first mistake.

The second is letting the silence stretch just a little too long. Because in that silence, everything shifts. Willow takes another step toward me. It’s small. Barely noticeable if you’re not looking for it.

Every inch she closes feels like something tightening in my chest. Like a line being pulled taut that I didn’t even realize was there.

“Careful,” I say, forcing a half-smile, trying to inject some kind of lightness into the moment. “You’re getting dangerously close to making this conversation interesting.”

Her lips curve, amused. “Oh, it already is.”

I shake my head, a quiet huff of laughter slipping out before I can stop it. “You always this bold, or is it just me?”

“Just you,” she says, without hesitation.

I drag a hand down my face, trying to reset myself, trying to remember where I am, who she is, who her father is—

“Garrison,” she says again, softer this time.

Closer. Too close.

I drop my hand. She’s right there now. Close enough that I can see the tiny flecks of gold in her eyes. Close enough that I can feel the warmth of her, the faint brush of her breath.

Close enough that I should step back. But I don’t.

“Yeah?” My voice is rougher than I intend.

She studies me for a second like she’s deciding something.

And then she smiles.

Not teasing this time.

Not playful.

Something… gentler.

“You overthink everything,” she says.

I let out a breath, a quiet laugh. “That obvious?”

“Very.”

“Good,” I mutter. “At least I’m consistent.”

She laughs—soft, warm—and it hits me harder than it should. There’s something about hearing it like this, not from a kid running around the house, but from the woman standing in front of me.

It makes everything feel… different.

I shake my head again, like I can knock some sense into myself. “Your dad would kill me if he saw me in here right now.”

“That’s dramatic.”

“Not really.”

She tilts her head. “You’re not doing anything wrong.”

I let out a low breath. “Feels like I am.”

“Then leave.”

She says it simply. Like it’s easy. Like I haven’t been trying to do exactly that for the past five minutes. I glance at the door again. Then back at her.

She’s still here. Still not moving away. And neither am I.

“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I probably should.”

But I don’t. Another beat passes.

And then—She steps closer. There’s no space between us now. None. My breath catches, just slightly, as her hand lifts—hesitant for half a second—before resting lightly against my chest.

It’s barely anything.

Just the soft press of her palm. But it might as well be a spark straight to my bloodstream.

“Willow—” I start.

I don’t get any further. Because she rises onto her toes—

And kisses me.

It’s gentle. Careful. Like she’s giving me every chance in the world to stop it. But I don’t. I can’t.

The second her lips touch mine, something ignites. It’s not explosive—not at first. It’s warmer than that.

A slow, spreading heat that starts where we meet and sinks deep into my chest, into my lungs, into every place I’ve been trying to keep locked down.

Her lips are soft.

Uncertain for just a second—Then a little more sure.

And God, that’s what does it. That tiny shift. That quiet confidence. My hand comes up without thinking, hovering near her waist like I’m still giving myself a chance to pull away.

She exhales against my mouth, and it sends a rush of heat straight through me. My grip tightens just slightly, instinct taking over, every nerve in my body lighting up at once.

This is a mistake.

I know it—But I kiss her back. Just as soft and careful. And it feels right… too right. Her fingers curl slightly against my chest, and the contact pulls something deeper out of me. My thumb shifts against her side, and I feel her react—just a small intake of breath, but it’s enough.

Enough to push me over the edge of restraint. I tilt my head, pressing closer, about to deepen the kiss—

The garage door creaks open.

“Garrison—” David’s voice cuts through the moment like a blade.

Everything snaps.

Willow pulls back instantly, like we’ve both been burned. My hand drops from her waist, my heart slamming against my ribs as I turn—And there he is.

Standing in the doorway. Frozen. For half a second, no one moves. No one speaks. Then his expression changes.

Shock—

To realization—to something far, far worse.

“What the hell is going on?”

His voice is low.

I take a step back, hands already coming up slightly like I can somehow undo what just happened. “David, I—”

“Don’t.”

The word cracks like a whip. Willow’s beside me, still, silent. I can feel the tension rolling off her, but I don’t dare look at her.

I can’t.

David’s eyes are locked on me. And I’ve never seen him like this. Not in thirty years.

“Get out,” he says.

I swallow hard. “David, listen—”

“I said get out!”

His voice explodes through the garage, echoing off the walls.

I flinch. Actually flinch. That’s how bad it is.

“I didn’t—this wasn’t—” I try again, but the words sound weak, useless even to my own ears.

His jaw tightens. “You think there’s anything you can say right now that makes this okay?”

No. There isn’t. I know that. He takes a step forward, and instinctively, I step back.

“Out,” he says again, quieter this time—but somehow worse.

I don’t argue again. There’s nothing left to say. I grab my jacket off the back of a chair, my movements stiff, mechanical. Every instinct in me is screaming to fix this, to explain, to do something—

But there’s nothing to fix. Not right now. Not like this. I head for the door, the weight of his stare burning into my back. I pause for half a second as I pass Willow. I don’t look at her.

I can’t.

And then I walk out. The noise of the party hits me all at once, but it feels distant, muffled, like I’m underwater. No one stops me. No one notices. I don’t stop moving until I’m outside, the cool night air hitting my face like a slap.

Only then do I finally stop and breathe. And only then do I realize—Everything just changed.