Chapter 3
Chapter
Three
DEENA
" S tay within sight of the cabin," Rosco says, watching me lace up my boots at the front door.His arms are crossed over his broad chest, expression somewhere between annoyed and concerned."Cell reception is spotty at best, and I don't need you getting lost on top of everything else."
"I'm not going to get lost." I straighten, meeting his gaze."I grew up exploring these woods too, remember?I probably have a better sense of direction than you do."
"Things change in twelve years.Trees grow. Paths disappear."
I roll my eyes. "I'll be fine.I'm just collecting soil samples from around the property, not hiking to Canada."
It's been three days of this delicate dance between us--me trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy while stranded here,him alternating between gruff indifference and these flashes of protective concern that leave me confused.
"Take Bear with you," he says, not quite making it a request."He needs the exercise."
At the sound of his name, the massive dog rises from his spot by the fireplace, tail wagging hopefully.He's attached himself to me like a second shadow since I arrived, much to Rosco's apparent annoyance.
"Fine." I clip the empty sample bags to my belt."Come on, Bear. Let's go find some interesting specimens while your grumpy owner does... whatever he does all day."
Rosco's lips twitch. "Woodworking.I told you."
"Right. The mysterious workshop where no one is allowed."
"It's not mysterious. It's private."
I want to push, to ask him what he's creating in there that requires such secrecy, but I've already tested enough boundaries this morning.Three days of forced proximity have taught me when to back off.
"We'll be back in an hour," I say instead, whistling for Bear, who bounds to my side with more enthusiasm than I've seen from his owner the entire time I've been here.
"One hour," Rosco confirms. "Or I'm coming looking for you."
The slight edge in his voice sends a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with the morning chill.I nod once before slipping out the door, Bear trotting happily beside me.
The mountain air is sharp and clean after the storm, carrying the scent of wet earth and pine.I inhale deeply, letting it fill my lungs as I follow a narrow game trail that skirts the edge of Rosco's cleared property.Bear ranges ahead, occasionally glancing back to make sure I'm following.
I've spent the past three days organizing Rosco's kitchen, reading the surprisingly well-stocked bookshelves in the guest room,and trying not to notice how achingly familiar he still is despite the years between us.The way he takes his coffee, the slight furrow between his brows when he's thinking, even the low rumble of his laugh on the rare occasions I manage to surprise it out of him.It's all so achingly familiar.
All of it calls to something in my chest I thought I'd buried long ago.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.Cell service is intermittent up here, but occasionally signals make it through.It's a text from Dr. Hammond..
Dr. Hammond:
Any progress on renovations? Pictures of disaster?Found any endangered mountain lady's slippers yet?
I snap a photo of the forest around me, focusing on a patch of trillium just beginning to bloom at the base of an oak tree.
Me:
House is a total loss. Roof collapsed during storm.Currently staying with a... neighbor until roads clear.Found these this morning though.
I send the photo, then add: Not the lady's slippers you were hoping for, but it's early in the season.
Dr. Hammond replies almost immediately.
Dr. Hammond:
Neighbor? Is he cute? Please tell me you're having a mountain romance while stranded in the storm.It would make the departmental gossip so much more interesting.
Heat rushes to my cheeks. Leave it to Dr. Hammond to jump straight to that conclusion.
Me: It's not like that. He's... an old friend.
Dr. Hammond:
"Old friend" is code for "ex-boyfriend," and you know it.Details requested immediately.
I shove the phone back in my pocket without answering.Bear has wandered a bit further ahead, nose to the ground as he investigates something interesting.I focus on collecting soil samples, and carefully labeling each bag with location notes.If I'm stuck here, I might as well get some work done.
When I reach a small clearing, I pause, struck by the view.From here, I can see down into the valley, the town of Serenity Hollow just visible through the morning mist, it's unchanged in many ways.The church steeple is still the tallest structure, and the winding river cuts through like a silver ribbon even after all these years of environmental changes.
This was our spot once. Rosco would drive us up here on his motorcycle, and we'd spend hours planning our future, making promises that neither of us kept.
"Silly girl," I mutter to myself."Focus on plants. They don't break your heart."
I kneel to examine a cluster of early spring mushrooms, pulling out my field journal to make notes.Bear returns, flopping down beside me with a contented sigh.
"At least you're easy to please," I tell him, scratching behind his ears."Not like your owner."
Bear's ears perk up suddenly, head swiveling toward the path we came from.A moment later, I hear the soft crunch of boots on leaves.
"That was a quick hour," I say without looking up as Rosco steps into the clearing.
"It's been almost two." His voice is closer than I expected, and I turn to find him standing just a few feet away."I thought I'd find you somewhere up here."
"Sorry. I got caught up." I gesture to my half-filled notebook and the sample bags neatly arranged beside me."Lost track of time."
He doesn't respond immediately, and when I look up again, I find him watching me with an expression of something between nostalgia and guarded curiosity.
"You still do that," he says finally.
"Do what?"
"Get so focused on your plants that the world disappears." He crouches beside me, large frame folding with surprising grace."You'd do that back then too.I'd lose you for hours in the woods behind my parents' place."
The casual mention of our shared past catches me off guard.He's been so careful to avoid direct references to our relationship.
"Some things don't change, I guess." I close my notebook, suddenly aware of how close he is.He smells like sawdust and coffee, with an underlying note that's purely Rosco.It's disconcertingly familiar."How did you know I'd be here specifically?"
"This was our spot." He says it simply, without inflection."Figured if you were remembering old times, you'd end up here."
I swallow hard. "I wasn't--"
"It's fine," he cuts me off. "We have history.No point pretending we don't."
Bear chooses that moment to wedge himself between us, dropping a stick at Rosco's feet with hopeful eyes.
"Subtle, boy." Rosco picks up the stick and throws it into the trees.Bear bounds after it, leaving us momentarily alone.
"He really likes you," Rosco observes."It's weird. He doesn't usually take to strangers."
"Animals and plants," I remind him."Always liked me better than people."
"I liked you just fine." The words slip out, and for a moment, the carefully constructed wall between us thins.His eyes meet mine, and I see a flash of the boy I once loved beneath the hardened exterior of the man he's become.
"Past tense noted," I say, aiming for lightness and missing by a mile.
His mouth quirks up at one corner."I'm still deciding about present tense.You did track mud through my kitchen yesterday."
"That was Bear!"
"My house, my rules, your responsibility."
The banter feels so natural that for a moment, I forget there are twelve years of silence and hurt between us.I forget I'm only here because of a collapsing roof and a washed-out road.I forget that Rosco Stone is not mine anymore.
Bear returns with the stick, breaking the moment.I stand, brushing soil from my knees.
"We should head back," I say, gathering my samples."I've got what I need for now."
Rosco rises beside me, taking the field pack from my hands without asking and slipping it over his own shoulder.When I reach to take it back, he shakes his head.
"I've got it."
"I can carry my own equipment."
"I know you can." He turns, already heading back toward the trail."Doesn't mean you have to."
It's such a Rosco thing to do that it jolts me momentarily back to why I fell for him so many yearsago.He's always had this gruff chivalry that manages to be both irritating and oddlyendearing.A trait that, without fail, always left me smiling, like I am right now, as I follow him through thewoods.
We walk in companionable silence for a while, Bear trotting ahead as if leading the wayhome.I steal glances at Rosco's profile, noting the new lines at the corners of his eyes, and the slight silver threading through his dark hair at thetemples.Three days of close proximity, and I still find new details tocatalog.
"How's the research going?" he asks suddenly."Your plants and soil and whatever."
I blink, surprised by the question."It's preliminary, but I'm finding interesting variations in the mycorrhizal fungi populations near disturbed versus undisturbed forest areas."
"English, Dr. Wilson."
I laugh despite myself. "The healthy relationship between fungi and plant roots differs depending on human activity.I'm studying how we might use that to improve conservation efforts."
"You always did like digging in the dirt." There's no bite to his words, just a quiet observation.
"I like understanding how things work," I correct him."How they connect. One change ripples through entire ecosystems."
"Similar to how one person leaving changes the entire life of another?" The question hangs between us, heavier than he perhaps intended.
I stop walking, forcing him to turn and face me."Ross--"
"Forget it," he says quickly."Old news."
"Is it? Because it feels like we're still having the same fight twelve years later."
His jaw tightens. "We're not fighting."
"No, we're just politely ignoring the elephant in the room while we play house for a week."
"Play house?" His eyes darken."Is that what you think this is?"
"I don't know what this is." I gesture between us, frustration bubbling up."One minute you're barely speaking to me, the next you're asking about my research like you care.You let me stay but keep me at arm's length.What exactly are we doing here, Ross?"
"Surviving," he says flatly. "Getting through this... situation... until the roads clear and you can go back to your fancy lab in Atlanta."
The dismissal stings more than it should."Right. Because that's all I am--the city girl who couldn't wait to escape this mountain."
"Your words, not mine."
"But it's what you think, isn't it?" I step closer, anger making me bold."That I couldn't wait to leave you behind.That my career was more important than what we had."
Something flashes in his eyes--pain or anger, I'm not sure which."Wasn't it?"
The simple question knocks the breath from my lungs.Was it? At twenty-one, with a full scholarship to my dream program and Rosco talking about settling down with the MC, the choice had seemed clear.Now, with twelve years of hindsight, I'm no longer certain.
"It wasn't that simple," I say finally."Nothing ever is."
He studies me for a long moment, and I feel stripped bare beneath his gaze."No," he agrees quietly. "It isn't."
Bear whines, sensing the tension between us.Rosco breaks eye contact first, reaching down to scratch the dog's head.
"Come on," he says. "I've got stew going back at the cabin."
The abrupt subject change is jarring, but I recognize his retreat.Some things haven't changed. Rosco still pulls back when emotions get too raw, still armors himself against vulnerability.
"You cook now?" I ask, allowing him the distance."But you've had us feeding on sandwiches all week."
"The sandwiches were easy. But if you must know, I live alone on a mountain. It was learn or starve."
"Fair point."
We resume walking, the mood between us shifted but not entirelyuncomfortable.When we reach the cabin, Rosco holds the door for me, his hand briefly settling on the small of my back as Ipass.The casual touch sends warmth radiating through mybody.It's not lost on me how attuned I still am tohim.
Inside, the rich aroma of simmering stew fills the air, making my stomach growlappreciatively.Rosco hangs my field pack on a hook by the door and heads to the kitchen, leaving me to remove my muddyboots.
"Make yourself useful and set the table," he calls over hisshoulder."Bowls are in the cabinet above thesink."
As I move around his kitchen, finding bowls and spoons, I realize with a start that this is the most normal I've felt inyears.Not Dr. Wilson with grants to write and deadlines to meet, not the ambitious botanist with something to prove, just Deena, setting the table while someone she cares about makesdinner.
The thought is as terrifying as it iscomforting.
Because despite everything, the years, the hurt, the walls we've both built, I still care about RoscoStone.And that's the most dangerous realization ofall.
I'm up to my elbows in soapy water when Rosco appears beside me, dish towel in hand.We've fallen into an unspoken routine these past four days--he cooks, I clean.It works, in the strange bubble of domesticity we've created.
"You don't have to do that," I say as he picks up a wet bowl from the drying rack."I can handle the dishes."
"I know." He dries the bowl with methodical precision."But it goes faster with two."
I can't argue with that logic, so I return to scrubbing the pot that held our leftover stew from last night.The wind has picked up outside, whistling around the cabin's corners and making the fire in the hearth flicker.Another storm is moving in, which means the roads will stay impassable even longer.
I should be more upset about this.Instead, I find myself oddly content.
"I checked on your house today," Rosco says, breaking the comfortable silence."While you were organizing your samples."
I pause, hands stilling in the water."How bad is it?"
"Bad." He doesn't sugarcoat it."The entire east wall is compromised.An insurance adjuster made it up there this morning, according to Earl at the general store.Said it's structural damage, beyond simple repair."
I expected this, but hearing it confirmed still feels like a blow."So I'm essentially homeless."
"For now." Rosco takes another dish from the rack."What will you do?"
It's a loaded question. Stay in Serenity Hollow?Return to Atlanta? Rebuild? Sell?
"I don't know," I admit. "Insurance should cover most of it, but construction would take months.I only have a six-month sabbatical."
"You could extend it." His voice is carefully neutral."Or commute from Riversend until it's livable."
"Maybe." I hand him the clean pot."Or I could just cut my losses, sell the land, and go back to Atlanta where I belong."
His hands pause briefly in their drying."Is that where you belong?"
"Isn't it?" I turn to face him fully."I've built a life there. My career, my research, my colleagues.Everything that matters is in Atlanta."
"Everything that matters, huh?" His eyes meet mine, searching.
I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry."I don't know anymore. Coming back here has been... complicated."
"Because of the house?"
"Because of you," I say before I can stop myself."Being here, with you, it's making me question choices I thought were settled years ago."
The admission hangs between us, too honest for the careful equilibrium we've established.Rosco sets down the dish towel, his expression unreadable.
"What choices?" His voice is low, almost a rumble.
"Whether leaving was the right decision." I wipe my hands on my jeans, needing something to do with them."Whether what I gained was worth what I lost."
"And what did you lose, Deena?"
The way he says my name, soft and rough at the same time, makes my chest ache."You," I whisper. "Us. The future we talked about up on that ridge."
Something shifts in his eyes, a wall coming down or perhaps being built higher.He steps closer, close enough that I have to tilt my head to maintain eye contact.
"That future died when you drove away," he says, but there's no bite to his words, just a weary acceptance."We're different people now."
"Are we?" I challenge. "Because sometimes, when you look at me a certain way, or laugh at something I say, it feels like nothing's changed at all."
His jaw tightens. "Everything's changed.I'm not that idealistic kid anymore, and you're not the girl who used to press wildflowers in her notebooks."
"But some things stay the same," I press, emboldened by his proximity."Like how you still rub the back of your neck when you're uncomfortable.Or how you can't stand having the coffee mugs facing different directions in the cabinet.Or how you still look at me sometimes like you did that summer by Miller's Creek."
His hands come up to grip the counter on either side of me, effectively caging me in."What are you doing, Deena?"
"I don't know," I admit. "Making observations.It's what I'm trained to do."
"And what conclusion are you drawing from these... observations?"
Heat floods my cheeks. "That maybe time and distance don't erase everything.That maybe there's still something here worth exploring."
His eyes darken, dropping briefly to my lips before returning to meet my gaze."That's a dangerous hypothesis, Doctor."
"The best research always is." I lift my chin, heart hammering in my chest."The question is whether you're brave enough to test it."
For a long moment, he doesn't move, his expression caught between desire and caution.I've pushed too far, I think.Crossed a line we've been carefully avoiding since I arrived.
Then his hand comes up to cup my cheek, his calloused thumb tracing the curve of my cheekbone with surprising gentleness."You always did know exactly how to challenge me."
"Ross," I breathe.
That's all it takes. The last thread of his restraint snaps, and his mouth crashes down on mine.
The kiss is nothing like the tentative explorations of our youth.This is a man who knows exactly what he wants, claiming it with a hunger that steals my breath.I respond instantly, arms wrapping around his neck, pressing myself against the solid wall of his chest.
He tastes like coffee and the wild honey we had for dessert, familiar and new all at once.His beard scratches pleasantly against my skin as he angles his head to deepen the kiss.One large hand slides to my waist, the other tangling in my curls as he backs me against the counter.
I make a small, needy sound in the back of my throat, and his grip tightens in response.Twelve years of distance and hurt and wanting crystallize into this moment, this kiss that feels like coming home and diving off a cliff simultaneously.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard.His forehead rests against mine, eyes closed as if gathering himself.
"This is a bad idea," he murmurs, but his hand still cradles my face like I'm something precious.
"Probably," I agree, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck."When has that ever stopped us?"
A reluctant smile tugs at his lips."You'll leave again," he says, the words carrying a weight of old pain."When the roads clear. When your house is fixed.When your sabbatical ends. You'll go back to Atlanta where you belong."
The repeated phrase cuts deeper than he likely intended."Maybe I don't know where I belong anymore."
His eyes open, studying me with an intensity that makes me shiver."Don't say things you don't mean, Dee-Dee.Not about this."
"I'm not," I insist, framing his face with my hands."I came back to decide whether Serenity Hollow could be home again.That decision just got a lot more complicated."
He kisses me again, softer this time, a question rather than a demand.I answer with equal gentleness, trying to convey what I'm not sure I can put into words, that being here with him feels right in a way nothing has in years.That beneath the accomplished scientist I've become, there's still a part of me that belongs to these mountains. To him.
When Bear nudges between us, clearly feeling left out, we break apart with reluctant laughter.
"Your dog has terrible timing," I tell Rosco, scratching behind Bear's ears.
"He's protective." Rosco doesn't step back, keeping me loosely caged between his body and the counter."Can't blame him for that."
The double meaning isn't lost on me."I'm not going to hurt you, Ross."
Something vulnerable flickers across his face before his expression smooths."Let's not make promises we can't keep, yeah?This is... whatever it is. We don't need to label it."
The retreat is subtle but unmistakable.He's giving us both an out, a way to protect himself if--when--I leave again.
I should take it. Should agree to keep things casual, uncomplicated.It would be the sensible choice.
Instead, I rise on tiptoes, pressing another kiss to his lips."Too late. I'm already keeping notes and forming hypotheses."
He groans, but there's a smile in it."God save me from scientists."
"Too late for that too." I slip from between him and the counter, heart lighter than it's been in days.
But before I can take more than two steps, Rosco's hand catches my wrist, his grip firm but gentle.The unexpected contact sends heat racing up my arm.I turn, finding his eyes darker than before, that careful restraint finally cracking.
"Deena." The way he says my name is a question and an answer all at once.
"Yeah?" My voice comes out breathier than intended.
"I'm tired of fighting this." His thumb traces circles on the inside of my wrist, setting my pulse racing."Tired of pretending I don't want you."
The confession breaks something open between us.This time when he pulls me back, I go willingly, my body colliding with his solid chest.His mouth finds mine with more urgency than before, one hand tangling in my hair while the other slides down to grip my hip.
I melt into him, arms winding around his neck as the kiss deepens.His beard scratches pleasantly against my skin, the contrast of rough and gentle intoxicating.When his tongue traces the seam of my lips, I open for him eagerly, a soft moan escaping as he explores my mouth with the same thorough attention he gives everything.
"Bedroom," I manage when we break for air."Now."
He pulls back slightly, studying my face."You sure about this?"
"I've never been more sure of anything." I rise on tiptoes, pressing a softer kiss to his lips."I want you, Ross. I've wanted you since the moment I landed on your doorstep."
Something primal flashes in his eyes.In one fluid motion, he lifts me, hands gripping the backs of my thighs as my legs instinctively wrap around his waist.The position brings our bodies into perfect alignment, the hard evidence of his desire pressing exactly where I need it most.
"Hold on," he murmurs against my neck, already moving us through the cabin with surprising grace given our entangled state.
Bear watches our progress with curious eyes before settling back on his bed with a huff, apparently deciding this human behavior isn't worth his attention.
The guest room is closer, but Rosco carries me straight to his bedroom without hesitation.The space is exactly what I'd expect--spartan but comfortable, dominated by a large bed with a handcrafted headboard that I realize with a start he must have made himself.
He sets me down gently at the foot of the bed, his hands lingering on my hips as if reluctant to break contact.The brief separation allows reality to intrude, bringing questions I need answered before we go further.
"Is this just physical for you?" I ask, hating the vulnerability in my voice but needing to know."Just getting old ghosts out of our system?"
His expression softens, thumbs tracing gentle circles on my hipbones."If that's all I wanted, I would've taken you that first night." He tucks a curl behind my ear, the tender gesture at odds with the heat in his eyes."This is more than ghosts, Dee.It's always been more with you."
The admission makes my heart stutter.I reach for him, framing his face between my palms."Same. Even when I tried to convince myself I was over you, I never really was."
He captures my mouth again, this kiss slower but no less intense.His hands find the hem of my flannel, pausing there in silent question.I answer by raising my arms, letting him pull the garment over my head.
His sharp intake of breath as he takes in my lace-covered breasts makes me shiver with anticipation."Beautiful," he murmurs, reverence in his voice.
My fingers find the buttons of his flannel, undoing them with trembling hands.He shrugs out of the shirt, revealing a chest more muscled than I remember, decorated with tattoos I don't recognize.I trace the ink with curious fingers across the Saints' emblem over his heart, partially covered by a newer design of pine trees silhouetted against mountains.
"Covering the old life with the new," he explains, watching my exploration.
"It's beautiful," I tell him, meaning it.The artistry is exquisite, the symbolism clear.Running from one life to another, just as I had.
His hands slip behind me, deftly unhooking my bra.As the straps slide down my arms, his gaze turns hungry."I've dreamed about this," he confesses, cupping my breasts with calloused hands."About you."
The rough texture of his palms against my sensitive skin draws a gasp from my lips.When his thumbs brush over my nipples, the sensation shoots straight to my core, wetness pooling between my thighs.
"Ross," I breathe, arching into his touch.
He lowers his head, replacing one hand with his mouth.The wet heat of his tongue circling my nipple makes my knees weak, a moan escaping before I can stop it.He responds with a low growl, the vibration adding another layer of sensation.
My hands find his belt, fumbling with the buckle.He pulls back, eyes dark with desire."Slow down, Dee. We've got time."
"Twelve years," I remind him, finally freeing the buckle."I think we've waited long enough."
A smile tugs at his lips. "Always so impatient." He captures my hands, bringing them to his lips."Let me take care of you."
The tenderness in his voice undoes me more than his passion.I nod, surrendering to his pace.
He leads me to the bed, laying me down with a gentleness that belies his strength.His hands find the button of my jeans, sliding them down my legs along with my underwear until I'm completely bare before him.
I should feel exposed, vulnerable, but the way he looks at me--like I'm something precious and rare--chases away any self-consciousness.He stands at the edge of the bed, drinking me in with his eyes.
"You're even more beautiful than I remembered," he says roughly.
I push up on my elbows, watching as he strips off his remaining clothes.My breath catches at the sight of him fully naked with hard muscle and tanned skin, his arousal impressive and unashamed.The years have only enhanced what was already a magnificent body, adding definition and a few scars that speak of a life fully lived.
"Come here," I whisper, reaching for him.
He joins me on the bed, his weight dipping the mattress as he positions himself above me.The first brush of skin against skin is electric, drawing sighs from us both.He captures my mouth again, the kiss deep and consuming as our bodies align.
His hand slides between us, finding the wetness between my thighs.When his fingers brush my center, I gasp against his mouth, hips rising instinctively to meet his touch.
"So responsive," he murmurs appreciatively, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves with practiced precision."So perfect."
I whimper as he presses one finger inside, then two, stretching me gently.The pleasure builds quickly, my body remembering his touch despite the years between.He watches my face as he works me higher, clearly enjoying every gasp and moan he draws forth.
"Ross," I pant, feeling the tension coiling tighter."Please."
"Please what?" His voice is rough with restraint, his fingers never stopping their maddening rhythm.
"I need you inside me," I manage, nails digging into his shoulders."Now."
He reaches for the nightstand drawer, retrieving a condom.I take it from his hands, tearing the package open and rolling it onto his length with shaky fingers.His sharp inhale as I stroke him is deeply satisfying.
Then he's positioning himself at my entrance, his eyes locked on mine."You sure about this?" he asks one final time.
In answer, I wrap my legs around his hips, pulling him closer."Completely sure."
He presses forward slowly, giving me time to adjust to his size.The stretch is exquisite, a burning fullness that borders on too much and not enough simultaneously.When he's fully seated, we both pause, breathing heavy, foreheads pressed together.
"Okay?" he asks, concern edging through the desire in his voice.
"Perfect," I assure him, shifting my hips experimentally."Move, Ross. Please."
He begins with measured thrusts, maintaining careful control even as his muscles tremble with the effort.I recognize the restraint for the protection, consideration, and affection it is wrapped in physical form.
But I don't want his control.I want all of him, raw and unfiltered.
I run my nails down his back, nipping at his lowerlip."I won't break," I whisper against hismouth."Letgo."
Something snaps in hisexpression.His next thrust comes harder, deeper, drawing a cry of pleasure from mythroat.He sets a new rhythm, still mindful but with an edge of the wildness I'd beenseeking.
"Like that?" he growls, his hand sliding beneath me to lift my hips, changing theangle.
"Yes," I gasp as he hits a spot that makes sparks dance behind myeyelids."God,yes."
He drives into me with increasing urgency, his breathing ragged against myneck.Every thrust pushes me higher, the tension building to an almost unbearablepeak.When his hand slips between us, thumb finding my center, I shatter with a cry of hisname.
The pleasure radiates through me in waves, my inner muscles clenching aroundhim.He groans, his rhythm faltering as he follows me over the edge, his release pulsing within me as his body shudders abovemine.
For several heartbeats, we stay locked together, breathing hard, sweat-slicked skin pressedtight.Then he carefully shifts his weight, rolling to the side and bringing me with him so I'm nestled against hischest.
The silence that follows isn't awkward, but filled with unspokenemotion.His fingers trace lazy patterns on my back, and I listen to his heartbeat gradually slow beneath myear.
"That was..." I search for words adequate to describe what justhappened.
"Yeah," he agrees, pressing a kiss to mytemple."Itwas."
Such a simple exchange, yet somehow it encompasseseverything.The years apart, the connection rediscovered, the questions still unanswered about what comesnext.
"Stay," he murmurs as my eyes grow heavy, his arm tightening aroundme."Sleep heretonight."
The request is about more than just where I spend the next few hours, and we both knowit.It's an invitation to cross another line, to acknowledge that what's happening between us isn't just physical release ornostalgia.
"Okay," I whisper, nestlingcloser.
As sleep claims me, I realize I haven't felt this content, this right, in twelveyears.Whatever complications tomorrow brings, whatever choices we still face, this moment is perfect in itssimplicity.
I belong here, in Rosco's arms, in ways I've denied for toolong.
Even if it's just fortonight.