Chapter 6
Charlotte
By evening, my brain is mush, my feet hurt, and I’m pretty sure I’ve hit my daily limit on clipboard-related stress. The Heart-to-Heart Festival vendors are mostly checked in, the booth layouts are finalized, and only two people cried today, which is honestly a win.
I should be exhausted enough to fall face-first onto this hotel bed and sleep until morning.
Instead, I’m wide awake.
Because of him.
I’d seen Liam earlier when I stopped by the bakery to review a few last-minute changes. We tried to stick to talking only about festival logistics, but it was a lot harder than expected. When I headed out the door, he looked at me and said, “I’ll see you later,” like he has a plan for us.
We didn’t set a time, or a place, I’ve no idea what he plans, but I can’t stop thinking about it, I’ve been replaying that look all day.
And now I’m in my inn room, showered, changed into jeans and a black top, hair down, trying really hard not to stare at the door like a lovesick teenager.
I busy myself with pointless tasks, like cleaning and rearranging my things to keep me distracted.
Which isn’t working.
A quiet knock causes my heart to jump. I take a breath, smooth my shirt, and open the door.
Liam stands there holding a brown paper bag that smells way too good to be anything other than dinner. His hair is a little messy from work, his forearms are bare from rolling up his sleeves, and he’s wearing that focused expression that always makes my stomach flip.
“Hi,” he says.
That’s all. Just hi, and my whole body wakes up like someone flipped a switch.
“Hi,” I say back, trying not to sound too breathless. “You brought food.”
“I brought options,” he says. “In case you were starving or picky or both.”
I step aside. “Come in.”
He walks in and sets the bag on the small table.
“You good?” I ask.
“Better now,” he says so casually that it takes me a second to catch my breath.
“Sit,” I tell him before I forget how talking works.
We unpack the food together. Sandwiches, chips, drinks, and two cupcakes I am absolutely sure he chose on purpose.
“This is a lot of food,” I say.
“I didn’t know what you liked.”
“So you bought everything?”
“Pretty much.”
We sit close enough that our knees bump if either of us shifts an inch.
It feels like a date. It is a date. We eat and talk about everything: work, vendor meltdowns, the bakery’s chaos.
He tells me Mark almost created a flour disaster trying to show off and I tell him about the vendor who tried to bribe me with fudge to get a better booth spot.
He watches me the whole time, not staring, just paying attention in a way that feels intimate.
“Chris made those cupcakes,” he says, nodding toward them. “He insisted.”
“Why?”
“He said, and I quote, if you are taking her food, you should take her dessert too because no one is happy without frosting.”
I laugh. “Accurate.”
“He also told me not to screw this up. So if you hate the cupcakes, I take no responsibility.”
“I won't hate them.”
He smiles, and something in me loosens.
We finish eating, and somewhere in the middle of laughing about cupcake strategy, the conversation shifts in a way that feels easy and warm.
I ask what he and Maisie are doing tomorrow.
“She’s staying with my mom for the night,” he says. “I’ll pick her up in the morning.”
“That’s nice,” I say. “Do they hang out together a lot?”
“Pretty often,” he says. “Maisie loves it.”
There is something careful in the way he says that. It’s soft but weighted, it nudges a question out of me.
“Can I ask something?”
“Yeah.”
“Does Maisie’s mom live here?”
He doesn’t tense or shut down. He just breathes out slowly, like he’s used to the question but still chooses honesty.
“No,” he says. “She tried when Maisie was little. Parenting full-time was too much for her, she gets overwhelmed easily. Always has.”
There’s no anger there. Just truth.
“Does Maisie see her?” I ask.
“A few times a year,” he says. “She sends gifts, cards, and she does love Maisie. She just isn’t the steady parent type. Maisie knows that.”
“That sounds like a lot to carry,” I say quietly.
He shakes his head. “It was simple, Maisie needed someone who could show up. That was it.”
The way he says it settles deep.
He clears his throat, like he doesn’t want it to sound heavier than it was. “Anyway, that is the situation.”
“It does not make her a bad person,” I say.
“I know. She wasn’t meant for this kind of life. But because of that, I am careful about who I bring around Maisie. I don’t want her getting attached to someone who might leave.”
I feel that all the way through me.
“I understand,” I say softly.
He holds my gaze in a quiet, steady way that makes it feel like the room shrinks around us.
“I wouldn’t let you in if I didn’t think you belonged here,” he says.
It hits low in my stomach, warm and terrifying in the best way.
We clean up the table, but the air between us feels different now, in a way that makes it hard to think about anything besides the fact that he is standing a few feet away and watching me like he likes what he sees.
Our hands brush when we both reach for the same wrapper, we both pause.
His eyes meet mine, steady and sure, and it feels like we are picking up right where we left off earlier at the Inn, no words needed.
I take a small step toward him without planning it. He takes one too. Neither of us pretends we don’t know what is happening.
“What are we doing?” I ask quietly, more curious than nervous.
He studies me for a beat, slow and focused. “Letting this happen,” he says. “Finally.”
My pulse jumps. “Yeah,” I breathe. “That sounds right.”
The space between us disappears, slow and certain, like we both decided at the exact same time that tonight was going to change everything.
I touch his shirt lightly with my fingertips. “Liam.”
“Yeah?”
“Come here.”
He kisses me like he’s been waiting for permission to lose control.
His hand curls around my jaw, possessive, steady, while my fingers fist in his shirt and pull him down, dragging our bodies flush.
That low growl in his throat vibrates against my lips and shoots straight through me, pooling heat deep between my legs.
His hands are under my shirt in seconds, sliding over my skin with heat and hunger, thumbs grazing under the swell of my breasts.
I gasp, already arching into him. The contact is electric.
My back hits the bed as he presses me down, his mouth never breaking from mine, one knee nudging between my thighs like he knows exactly what I need before I say it.
When he finally pulls back, breath ragged, pupils blown, he looks at me like I’m the only thing left in the world.
“Tell me if you want me to stop.”
“I won’t.” The words come out low, certain, soaked in need.
That’s all it takes. He dives back in, his mouth hot on mine, his tongue pushing deep as his hands strip my shirt over my head, fingers yanking at the clasp of my bra until I’m bare beneath him.
His mouth breaks away only to trail down my neck, open-mouthed kisses dragging fire along my skin, down to my breasts.
He licks over one nipple, slow and firm, before pulling it into his mouth and sucking until my breath shatters into a moan.
“Fuck…Liam…”
He groans, one hand sliding down to undo my jeans, dragging them past my hips, taking my underwear with them. I lift to help him, desperate to be naked, to feel everything. He pauses, eyes raking down my body with a kind of reverent hunger that makes me squirm. Then he sheds his clothes.
When he climbs back over me, completely bare, his cock thick and hard and pressing against my thigh, my whole body tightens in anticipation.
“Look at me,” he says, and I do. His voice has gone deep and gravelly, his breath hot against my cheek. “Still sure?”
“God, yes,” I whisper, wrapping my legs around him and pulling him in.
He slides his hand between us, fingers dipping into me first, and the moment he feels how soaked I am, he lets out a filthy groan that makes my thighs clench.
“Jesus, baby… you’re fucking dripping.”
He strokes me once, slow and firm, then lines himself up and pushes in, thick and steady. My mouth falls open. My fingers dig into his shoulders. The stretch is perfect, almost too much, and I feel every inch as he fills me.
“Fuuuck,” I breathe, head falling back. “You feel so good.”
His hips rock forward, inching deeper until he’s all the way inside, hips flush to mine, and we both freeze there for a moment. My body clenches around him, already pulsing with need, and he hisses through his teeth.
“Shit. You’re tight. You’re perfect.”
Then he starts to move.
Slow at first, deep strokes that drag along every sensitive inch inside me, and I can’t hold back the noises spilling from my throat. It’s not enough. I want more. I roll my hips to meet his, and that’s all it takes for his rhythm to change.
He thrusts harder, deeper, hips snapping against mine with a wet slap that fills the room. The bed creaks beneath us. My breasts bounce with every movement, and he watches them, hands sliding under me to grip my ass and fuck me up into him, angling deeper.
“God, yes, right there…don’t stop!”
“I’m not fucking stopping,” he growls, teeth scraping my jaw before his tongue soothes the mark. “You feel too fucking good.”
His hand slips between us, fingers rubbing tight circles on my clit, and my cry rips from me without warning. My body arches up into him, my hands scrambling down his back as I writhe beneath him.
“Come on, Charlotte. Let go. I wanna feel you come on my cock.”
That does it. My body locks up, every nerve lighting up as the orgasm crashes over me hard and fast. I cry out, muscles clenching around him, and he doesn’t slow—he fucks me through it, each thrust sending aftershocks rippling through me until I’m trembling beneath him.
“Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight. Fuck…”
He slams into me one last time and groans, long and guttural, spilling into me with a shudder that rocks both of us. His body stays tense for a second, then collapses against mine, panting against my neck, still buried deep inside me.
Neither of us moves.
His hand finds mine, fingers lacing, grounding us in the aftermath. I feel his heartbeat racing against my chest. My body is limp, boneless, completely undone.
After a minute, he shifts, just enough to kiss me. Not rough this time. Gentle. Slow. Still hungry, but quieter now.
“You okay?” he asks, voice hoarse.
I nod, stroking the back of his neck, still catching my breath. “More than okay.”
He exhales against my skin and rolls us onto our sides, keeping me close, keeping him inside me. His arm wraps tight around my waist like he’s not ready to let go.
And neither am I.
Because this didn’t feel like just fucking.
It felt like claiming. Like a promise we both finally dared to keep. I nestle against his chest, one leg thrown over his, his hand still tracing circles into my back.
“Liam?”
“Yeah?” His voice is already fading into sleep, warm and rough against my temple.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
He pulls me in tighter, lips brushing my hair.
“Good,” he murmurs.
And it is.
It really, really is.