15. More Alive
15
MORE ALIVE
MAISY
I woke up warm. Not just under the blanket, but from the inside out.
Brooks’ arm draped over my waist, his breath soft and steady against the back of my neck. One of my legs tangled with his, and I wasn’t sure where his chest ended and my spine began. The sun slipped through the crack in the guest house curtain, casting slow-moving stripes across the white sheets.
We’d... done it.
I’d given him everything.
And somehow, I felt more myself, more alive than I ever had.
He shifted behind me with a sleepy groan, and I bit back a smile when I felt his nose brush against my shoulder.
“You’re still here,” he murmured, voice rough and full of sleep.
“You sound surprised.”
“I thought maybe you’d vanish in a puff of logic and overthinking before sunrise.”
I smirked, reaching behind to swat his hip. “Hilarious.”
He caught my hand and brought it to his lips. “Not joking. I’m glad you stayed.”
I rolled onto my back so I could see him. His hair stuck up, looking completely ridiculous, and the crease of the pillow was still faint on his cheek, but his eyes focused on mine—soft, open, unguarded in a way I hadn’t seen before.
I could have stayed there forever.
But forever was suddenly big and scary, and right now, I needed coffee.
“I’m making us coffee,” I whispered.
He groaned dramatically as I slipped from bed. “Only if you promise to do it in my shirt and nothing else.”
I glanced over my shoulder and arched a brow. “Then congratulations,” I said, tugging his black tee from the floor and slipping it over my head. “Fantasy unlocked.”
I padded to the kitchen, bare legs chilled by the tile, and froze at the sight of the complicated espresso machine on the counter. “Uh, we have a problem.”
As smart as I considered myself to be, a simple pour-over was all I needed to function—hot, strong, and uncomplicated. But of course, billionaire Richard had to install the Rolls Royce of espresso machines in the guest house. The thing looked like it could brew coffee and file taxes at the same time.
I was a scientist, not a barista. I measured the grounds with shaking fingers and pressed some buttons in another language. Italian?
I didn’t know, couldn’t think. Because somewhere in the quiet between our tangled bodies last night and the stillness of this morning, fear had crept in.
What were Brooks and I to do now? Could we really do this?Could something so tangled in timing and near misses in the past actually work now?
The coffee began to drip and hiss, making a mess everywhere.
“Ugh, this... this thing-a-ma-jig. I just want a damn coffee.”
Behind me, I heard footsteps rush in.
Brooks entered the room shirtless, wearing nothing but jeans—top button undone, hair still a mess, and mouth twitching like he already knew what I was thinking. He casually pushed a few buttons, cleaned up the mess, and apparently got the machine to work.
I leaned against the counter and crossed my arms.
“I know that look,” he said.
“What look?”
“The one that says, ‘I just slept with a sexy man I’ve pined for since the day I met him with a grin that should be illegal, and now I’m worried I’m going to ruin it.’”
I blinked. “That’s... very specific.”
He grinned and crossed the kitchen, closing the distance between us.
“I’m observant. Must be your scientific method wearing off on me.”
He lifted me onto the counter and stepped between my legs before I could protest.
“Brooks…”
“Nope.” His hands were firm, squeezing my hips. “Don’t even try to wriggle out of this. I’m not letting you go this time.”
My breath hitched.
“I know I said we could be professional,” he said, voice quiet, eyes searching mine. “But here’s the truth, Maisy. I don’t want to figure out a way to keep you at arm’s length anymore. I want to hold you. Wake up with you. Build a million overpriced calming rooms with you. I want you. ”
I swallowed. “What if I mess it up?”
“Then we’ll mess it up together and we’ll figure out how to make it right.”
I stared at him, heart tight in my chest. “I want to be brave,” I whispered.
“You already are.”
“I’m scared.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want to run.”
“Then stay.” He touched his forehead to mine, the scent of him wrapped around me like a second skin, mixed with the aroma of overpriced Italian coffee. Warm, real, familiar.
“I’ve wasted too much time trying to forget you,” he said. “Turns out, I’m not built to forget.”
Tears threatened, but I blinked them back.
“Don’t forget me. I’m here,” I reassured. “I want to see what this becomes, even if it scares me senseless.”
“Good,” he breathed, his smile a slow, grateful thing. “Because I plan on kissing you, obsessing over you, and making you happy every day until you’re sick of me. And even then, I’m not letting you push me away.”
“It might take a long time before I’m sick of you.”
“Perfect. I’m very patient.”
We traded smiles until the coffee thing-a-ma jig beeped, and neither of us moved to check on it.
“Is this what healthy attachment feels like?” I teased.
“No,” he said, lips brushing mine. “This is what finally you’re mine feels like.”
I wrapped my arms and legs around his waist and kissed him in a sunlit kitchen,brewing coffee and hope.
This wasn’t the end of our story.
It was only the beginning.
By noon on Sunday, the clouds had parted and sunshine glowed golden over Holly Creek like it was celebrating our happiness too. Rex and Chelsea hosted a casual lunch out on their back deck, the grill smoking, the babies sleeping in their carriers, and Paris bouncing between everyone with a wildflower crown in her hair.
It was the kind of afternoon that made you believe in simple joys—the sound of laughter, the clink of iced tea glasses, the scent of grilled burgers and spring blooms. I’d miss it later once we headed back to the busy beat of the city.
As we all sat down to eat, Rex raised his glass and clapped Brooks on the back and casually asked, “So, how was Hops last night?”
Brooks glanced at me and smiled, hand brushing mine under the table. I blushed, but didn’t look away. With a squeeze that said ‘We’re doing this,’ he grinned.
“I think Maisy and I ended up in a good place.” he winked. It was a brilliant answer, ambiguous, teasing, enough to give our friends and family a hint that something was developing between us.
Then he went and finished it with a kiss on my lips. The table erupted in a chorus of cheers, whistles, and knowing looks, like they read right through us, anyway.
Paris clapped. “Yay. Does this mean more babies?”
“Paris!” Vivian nearly choked on her lemonade. “Not yet. Let’s give them a minute.”
With a twinkle in his eyes, Brooks leaned close and whispered in my ear, “Unless you’re ready for that…?”
I elbowed him, grinning. “Down, boy. Don’t scare me away before the sun has even set on this day.”
He chuckled and winked. And dammit, I tried not to imagine what it’d be like to hold his child, our child, in my arms.
After lunch and many goodbyes, and kisses on the heads of two sweet babies, Brooks and I kept our parting simple with a kiss at the car and a promise to talk more. We had a meeting scheduled for Wednesday, and I tried not to overthink the time between now and then.
Sophie and I loaded up for our drive back to the city. She took the wheel while I curled up in the passenger seat, heart still floating from everything that had happened.
“Well?” she asked after a few miles.
“Well, what?”
She shot me a look. “Did you finally tear up the V card?”
I groaned, hiding my face. “Sophie!”
She cackled. “Come on. You’re glowing. Spill.”
I peeked at her through my fingers. “Okay. Yes. And it was… everything. He was everything. I can’t even… put it into words.”
She reached across to squeeze my hand. “I’m so damn happy for you.”
I smiled, soft and dreamy. “It feels real. Like maybe we actually have a shot this time.” I didn’t voice to her that every mile we drove away from Holly Creek, I worried about whether Brooks and I could make this last in the city.
The weekend back home was just us, no work, no other people, no stress, just family and friends in a bubble of love and hearts. Like Spring Break was for us on the private island so long ago, just us. But our lives in New York would be another matter entirely between work schedules and pressures and coworkers, the hustle and bustle of the city adding a complicated layer to it all.
“You two will find a way. And if you start to freak out, I’ll be there with tequila and ice cream. Whichever the moment calls for.”
I laughed, wiping a tear. “Deal. But enough about me. How was your night with Archer and Keaton? I’m sorry I left you there alone with them.”
“I’m not. I flirted with both recklessly, while also nonchalantly asking twenty questions of Keaton about his operation.”
“Ooh, like a spy mission? Did you get deep undercover with him?” I wriggled my brows.
She rolled her eyes with a laugh. “Sadly, no.” After a quiet beat, she added, “I am definitely going to pitch Richard on helping Keaton with his marketing. I saw enough of the operation last night to know he needs serious help if he wants to succeed.”
“There’s the boss-girl. You totally should. That brewery is amazing, but yeah… he could use the Sophie touch.”
I eyed her, though, as she talked more about Keaton. The spark in her eyes was undeniable for the brewmaster-turned-reality star.
“Are you sure you want to do this, Sophie? Or do you hope for more than a marketing contract?”
She smirked. “Shut up and turn on the music. I will not sleep with someone who hires me professionally. Not yet, anyway,” she teased.
Later, as the city skyline came into view, I felt a tug in my chest—like hope and fear braided together, fighting for space. I didn’t know what waited for us back here. But I wasn’t bracing for the worst. I was quietly, stubbornly hoping for the best.