Chapter Thirty-Two
Nora
My father’s house felt too quiet.
Evan hadn’t stayed. He’d kissed me slowly at the front door then murmured, “Text me when you’re ready tomorrow. I’ll be waiting.” He’d left with Drew and Bella.
It was just me.
And I’d only stayed so my father didn’t feel totally alone.
Morning was a relief. I dressed with a single, sharp sense of purpose.
I chose a simple cotton sundress the color of a summer sky that skimmed my thighs, the fabric soft against my skin.
The boots I pulled on still carried the faint, defiant scent of mountain pine.
Beneath the dress, I wore the thinnest slip of silk I owned—barely there, a secret invitation.
I was claiming the day before it even started.
I slipped out the side door before the house staff woke, stepping into the crisp morning air that made my lungs feel new.
Evan pulled up in a truck and kept it idling at the bottom of the steps of my father’s house.
I jogged the last few steps, grinning like a kid cutting class, and he leaned across the console to push the passenger door open before I reached it.
“Morning, trouble,” he said, his voice rough with sleep and something significantly warmer.
I climbed in, shut the door, and pulled him into a kiss that tasted of coffee and pure, unadulterated longing. His hand found the back of my neck, his fingers tracing my jaw as if he were memorizing the architecture of my face.
“Morning,” I breathed against his lips.
He pulled back a bit to search my eyes. “You okay? No regrets about last night? Still up for house shopping?”
“Absolutely. Let’s do this.”
For a second, something flickered in his expression—relief, yes, but also something deeper. It was the look of a man who understood this wasn’t only about today; this was a line we were both finally stepping across.
“Good.” He shifted into gear and eased the truck forward. “Three places. No realtor, no pressure. The keys are already waiting—small-town perks.”
I laughed, the sound bright in the quiet cab. “You’re playing realtor now?”
He glanced over, his eyes crinkling with heat. “I’m playing whatever you need me to be. There weren’t any big homes on the market, but these are all in good locations and have enough land for horses.”
We drove through Firebrook Valley, the windows cracked to let in the competing scents of fresh-cut grass and pine. I reached over and laced my fingers through his on the gearshift.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” I said softly. “I could have looked on my own.”
“I know you could,” he said, squeezing my hand. “But I wanted to be there when you walked through your first door.” His thumb brushed mine, grounding the words. “I’m not going anywhere, Nora. My hope isn’t that this will be your house—but ours.”
Yes.
Don’t cry.
Don’t cry.
This is really happening. “Then let’s go.”
We didn’t make it far past the front door of the first house.
The key was under the mat, just like he’d said.
I turned it in the lock and stepped inside, the scent of cedar and sun-warmed wood rushing out to meet us.
Hardwood floors creaked under my boots. The hallway was narrow and lined with empty picture hooks, looking as though someone had once hung a whole life here and then carefully taken it down.
A blank space. Waiting.
Evan closed the door behind us with a soft, final click.
I turned.
He was already there—close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his body, smell the faint trace of pine and coffee on his skin. His eyes were dark and his pupils were blown wide, as if he’d been holding himself back since the moment I got in the truck.
I opened my mouth to say something—anything—but the words dissolved when he stepped forward and cupped my face with both hands.
“Nora,” he rasped, his palms warm and steadying against my skin. “Tell me to stop. Right now. Because if I touch you the way I want to . . .” His voice dropped, rough with a depth of emotion I hadn’t expected. “There’s no going back from this. Not for me.”
My heart stuttered with the rightness of it. Good.
I reached up, fisting the front of his shirt, and yanked him down.
The collision of our mouths wasn’t a kiss—it was a definitive release.
Teeth, tongues, and desperate, broken sounds filled the small space.
He backed me into the hallway, my shoulders hitting the cool plaster as his body—hard and unrelenting—pressed me into the wall.
He lifted me, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, my boots scuffing the paint as my sundress rode up my thighs, the thin cotton bunching at my hips.
His hands found bare skin, sliding higher until he stilled for a sharp, staggered heartbeat of realization; his forehead dropped to mine, his breath coming in rough, uneven hitches.
“Jesus, Nora . . .” His voice went softer. Rough, but reverent. “You came to me like this.”
“I’ve been waiting ten years,” I whispered into the crook of his neck. “Don’t you dare go slow now.”
Something in his expression shifted then—not restraint breaking, but something deeper settling into its final place. Decision.
His pants dropped to the floor and he lined himself up and entered me—one long, deep thrust that stole the breath from both of us.
We froze as the world condensed into that single point of contact—the heat, the impossible fullness, and every nerve ending finally firing in recognition of the man I’d spent a decade imagining.
My fingers dug into his shoulders as the ten years of almosts, of stolen glances across the river, of pretending we didn’t feel it .
. . all of it crashed into this single moment of finally, finally being one.
Then he moved. Hard. Fast. Unstoppable.
Each thrust drove me higher up the wall, the plaster cool against my back and his body hot and relentless against mine.
I arched into him, chasing the friction, the build, the unbearable tightening low in my belly.
Every slide of him dragged delicious pressure over that perfect spot inside me, sending sparks racing down my spine to pool hot and tight and aching.
“Been waiting . . . so damn long,” he groaned against my neck, his voice wrecked. “You feel like heaven. So tight. So wet for me. You’re everything I didn’t let myself have.”
That hit deeper than anything filthy could have. I clenched around him, a broken sound tearing from my throat.
“Evan—”
He shifted, hit deeper, and I shattered—hard and sudden, the pleasure ripping through me in bright, pulsing waves.
My body locked around him, taking him with me as my name left his lips like a vow.
He followed with a low, wrecked groan, burying himself as deep as he could go, his entire body shuddering as he let go inside me.
We stayed there, suspended. My legs were still wrapped around him, his forehead pressed to mine, both of us breathing like we’d just outrun something we couldn’t name. His hand slid up into my hair, slower now. Careful. Like I might disappear if he wasn’t.
I didn’t speak and I didn’t move. I just stayed there, feeling him still inside me, feeling the way his body hadn’t pulled away.
But somewhere, faint and sharp as a splinter, my father’s voice echoed: He’ll lose everything.
I shut it out. Not now. Not this moment.
After a long minute, Evan let out a shaky breath against my lips. “We just christened the hallway.”
I laughed—soft, breathless, still tangled in him. “Good bones on this place.”
He kissed me again, slower this time, as if he had all the time in the world.
When he eased me down, steadying me when my knees wobbled, he didn’t let go right away.
His hand lingered at my waist before he pulled his pants back on.
Then—with a wicked, familiar edge—he tugged that thinnest slip of silk the rest of the way off and slid it into his pocket.
“These,” he said, tapping his chest, “are mine now.”
I smiled, the heat already blooming again. “You’re trouble.”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Your choice.”
That landed differently. Better.
Clothing adjusted, laughter threading easily between us, but we were different.
All walls were down and there was no longer a question of how we felt for each other.
I looked around the empty space again, the light, the quiet, and the walls that didn’t belong to anyone yet. “I like it,” I said softly.
Evan stepped behind me, his arms sliding around my waist and his chin resting on my shoulder. “The house?”
I leaned back into him. “The house. The hallway.” I hesitated, then added quietly, “The fact that it feels like something that could be mine.”
He turned his head, pressing a kiss just below my ear. “It is,” he said. “Whatever you build here—it’s yours.” His arms tightened slightly. “And if you want me in it . . . I’m not going anywhere.”
I turned in his arms and kissed him again—slower now, deliberate, tasting the promise in it. “Then let’s go see the next one,” I murmured.
He smiled was slow, steady, and just a little wicked. “Lead the way, trouble.”
We locked up behind us, fingers laced, stepping back into the sunlight.