Chapter 24
The repairs on the house were finally coming together—the new roof finished, the damaged exterior wall reframed and wrapped, and the replacement sliding door propped nearby, waiting for installation.
Inside, the living and dining rooms were stripped down to the studs, the ruined insulation hauled out, and the last of the warped flooring torn up.
Brian had walked through earlier with his hands in his pockets, nodding as he could already picture the place whole again.
He didn’t rush Tess as she stood in the gutted living room, holding up her paint samples one by one against the exposed studs and imagining what color would make the space feel like home again.
“What do you think of these two?” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “The green one is called Riverdale, and then the cream accent color is Polar Bear.
“I like them. You’ve got good taste.”
The compliment shouldn’t have made her stomach flip. But it did. “Thanks.”
“Any time.”
He held her gaze for a second longer than necessary, something thoughtful passing between them—quiet, steady, and unhurried. Then he nodded once, as if tucking her offer away somewhere he planned to revisit.
They left the unfinished house together, locking up while the late-afternoon sun painted long lines across the porch. Neither of them said much on the walk to their cars, but the silence wasn’t awkward. It was... expectant. Like both of them knew the day wasn’t over yet.
They made a quick stop for some takeout, and she followed him back to his condo.
When she stepped inside for the first time, the place was unmistakably him.
Clean lines. Comfortable but not fussy. The kind of tidy that came from habit, not effort.
A deep navy throw hung over the back of the couch, softening the otherwise simple living room.
The walls were plain white, and she could instantly picture the place with a little color—warm grays, maybe a muted blue by the windows. Something lived-in. Something inviting.
A few framed photos sat on the shelves flanking both sides of the TV—not many, but enough to sketch the outlines of his life.
Brian, with his brothers, all three in sand-streaked clothes, squinting against the bright sun.
Another of him and Dan on a fishing boat, each holding up a striped bass and looking proud in a way only family could make them.
And one of a softball team, Rafe, at Brian’s left, both mid-laugh and dust-covered, probably from sliding into base or home plate.
Nothing staged. Nothing polished. Just pieces of a man who didn’t care much about decorating, but cared deeply about the people in his orbit.
She felt something loosen in her chest—something warm and unsettling and full.
“Welcome to my extremely white, extremely dull apartment,” Brian said with amusement as he set the takeout bags on the counter.
But she didn’t think it was dull at all. Not even close.
“I like it,” she said honestly, drifting toward the photos on the other side of the TV. Her fingers hovered just shy of the frames. “It feels like you.”
One picture drew her in—a sun-faded snapshot of Brian in his mid-teens, all long limbs and big grin, standing between two boys who had to be his brothers. A man and woman stood behind them, arms looped around all three boys, smiling like the photographer had said something ridiculous.
His family. The people who made him.
Something in her chest tightened—not painful, just... aware. This was a piece of his world he hadn’t shown her before, even unintentionally.
Brian came up beside her, close enough that his heat seeped into her arm. “That was taken about a year before my folks died.”
“They were a good-looking couple—happy. You were cute too,” she teased, then corrected herself with a smile. “Still are.”
Color touched his cheeks, faint but real. “I was a menace at that age.”
She believed it—but there was also a brightness in the boy’s eyes, the same spark she sometimes caught in the man standing next to her.
And she liked that more than she should.
“Tess...”
The sudden seriousness in his voice had her turning around to face him.
“I don’t want to rush anything,” he said carefully. “But I—” A soft exhale. “Being with you feels... good. Right. And I’m trying really damn hard not to be terrified of that.”
Her breath caught. That was exactly how she’d been feeling lately.
She stepped closer, fingers brushing his. “You’re not the only one who’s scared.”
He searched her face—slowly, gently, like he didn’t want to miss anything she wasn’t saying aloud. “But you’re here.”
“Yeah,” she whispered. “I’m here. So are you.”
His hand found her cheek, warm and steady, thumb brushing along her skin like he’d been wanting to do it all day. “Then maybe... we try. For real. Not halfway. Not pulling back the second it feels too good.”
Her chest tightened, her emotions catching her off guard. “Brian...”
“For the first time in my life, I know what I want,” he said quietly. “Who I want—and that’s you. I just don’t want to spook you.”
“You won’t,” she said, surprised by the certainty in her own voice.
“I am scared—I can’t deny that—but I don’t want to run from this.
From you.” Her voice softened. “At first, I thought the timing wasn’t right—everything with the house, Andy heading into his senior year, and my chance to go to medical school.
But if I wait for the ‘right time,’ I might miss out on the best thing that’s happened to me. I don’t want to wait anymore.”
Something in him loosened—shoulders dropping, jaw unclenching. Relief and hope flared in his eyes.
He leaned in, his nose nuzzling hers. “Good. Because I’m falling for you. I don’t know when it started, but I don’t think I could stop now if I tried.”
Her legs shook. It felt like the floor shifted—equal parts terrifying and exhilarating. “You’re not the only one,” she whispered. “I’m falling too.”
His hand slid to the back of her neck, fingers threading into her hair as if pulling her to him was the most natural thing he’d ever done.
“Come here,” he murmured against her lips.
The kiss wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t frantic. It was slow, deliberate—each second deepening, warming, building. His other hand settled on her waist, his thumb dipping under the hem of her shirt and brushing against her skin. The touch sent tingles of desire through her.
She melted into him, fingers curling into the front of his shirt. The past week of tension and wanting bled out of her at once, leaving nothing but aching want.
He kissed her like he’d been waiting all week—hungry, certain, and nothing tentative about it. Tess didn’t think—couldn’t. She just tugged him closer, her body answering his before her mind could catch up, the need between them sparking hard and immediate.
Breaking the kiss, he breathed heavily, his forehead resting against hers. “To hell with dinner.” His voice was rough enough to send a shiver straight down her spine. “We can eat later.”
A helpless sound escaped her—half laugh, half longing. She didn’t usually lose her mind this fast. But with him? Something inside her sparked to life.
He kissed her again, deeper, and the world narrowed to the heat of his mouth and the grip of his hands clutching her hips. They’d only slept together that one night, but she’d missed this—missed him. It was as if a year had gone by instead of a single week.
“Jesus, Tess...” The words came out rough, almost reverent. He caught her jaw in his hand and kissed her cheek, neck, and ear in frantic little bursts like he couldn’t stay in one place. “Tell me you want this too.”
She did. God, she did. “Yes.” The answer came out on a breath, raw and uncontested. “I want you.”
His whole body tightened against hers at that, as if she’d just hit some switch he’d been trying not to flip. A low groan erupted from him a second before his lips took possession of hers again with a fierceness that stole her breath.
He backed her down the hallway, barely breaking contact. They reached his bedroom, and he paused—just enough for her to feel the tremor in his hands, like he was wrestling back a little control. His eyes searched hers, warm and dark and full of something that made her knees go weak.
“Fuck, Tess, you’re beautiful. I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want you right now. I’m barely holding it together.”
Heat curled through her at the admission—honest, raw, and real. She stepped into him, sliding her hands under his shirt, loving the way his breath hitched the second her fingers touched his skin.
“I don’t want you to hold it together.”
His inhale was sharp, almost ragged.
And then his mouth was on hers again—no hesitation, no doubt—like the last thread between them had finally snapped. The kiss was rough and frantic, as if neither could satisfy the sudden, urgent need for the other. He lifted her shirt as her hands delved under his.
Fabric hit the floor in a messy trail—his shoes kicked off, her jeans shoved down her legs, his belt clattering somewhere near the dresser. She stepped out of her clothes while he pushed his pants down his hips. Both moved on instinct, their mouths colliding between frantic attempts to get naked.
She reached behind her back, unhooking her bra as he dragged it off her shoulders, his fingers already sliding over bare skin like he couldn’t wait another second. Hands were everywhere as they stripped each other until both were naked.
He palmed her breast with one hand and her ass with the other.
As he moved her toward the bed, she clutched his hips and pivoted until he was the one whose calves hit the mattress.
Wanting to taste him, she dropped to her knees and ran her hands up his thighs, pushing on them until he sat on the bed.
“Tess, you don’t have—”