Chapter 20
Harmony
Eric kissed me like he was trying to relearn me, slow, reverent, and careful in ways that made something inside me unravel.
His hands traced the length of my spine, warm and grounding, and the soft catch of my breath felt loud in the quiet room.
When he slid my sweater over my head, he paused just long enough to look at me like he’d been carrying the memory of me for years.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured.
Heat rushed to my cheeks. “You aren’t so bad yourself.”
His grin turned wicked before he lifted me and laid me gently on the bed. I let out a startled laugh; it was real and unguarded. It felt like remembering a sunlight I didn’t know I’d lost. He tugged my flannel pants down, fingers brushing bare skin.
“I missed this,” he said softly.
“We were teenagers,” I reminded him.
He chuckled against my hip. “We were good even then.” His voice dropped lower. “Now I know exactly what I’m doing.”
And he did.
His mouth closed around my breast, tongue circling until my back arched. His hand slid between my thighs, confident and sure, and pleasure sparked bright and sharp through me.
“Eric. . .” My voice broke. “I… it’s been a long time. I haven’t been with anyone since . . .”
He froze only for a heartbeat. Not pulling away. Just softening.
“Harmony.” His gaze held mine. “Was I the last?”
I nodded.
Something flickered through his eyes, I couldn’t tell if it was pain or tenderness, but it was something protective, that much I knew. He didn’t say anything else. He just kissed me gently and moved lower, breath hot against my stomach.
“Then I’ll take my time,” he whispered.
When his mouth settled between my thighs, my fingers tangled in his hair. Pleasure unfurled, sharp and consuming, his tongue moving slowly and deliberately until I was shaking beneath him, holding on to him like a lifeline.
“Eric…” My voice fractured. “I can’t be quiet when you—”
He reached over, tapped his phone, and soft music filled the room. “I’ve got you.”
“Do you bring a lot of women up here for this?” I teased weakly, insecurity slipping out before I could stop it.
He lifted his head, eyes dark. “I don’t bring women here. And you. . .” His hand traveled up my thigh. “Are not a hookup.”
The truth in his voice nearly broke me. He kissed me again, deep and hungry, and when I pulled him on top of me, everything clicked into place. The years apart, the fear, the wanting. . . every piece snapped together like they’d been waiting.
I pushed his pants down. My breath caught at the sight of him hard, thick, and ready.
“You look nervous,” he murmured.
“You’re… huge.”
His laugh warmed my neck. “I’ll be gentle.”
“I know,” I whispered without a doubt.
He rolled on a condom, then pushed inside me inch by inch, stretching me slow enough that I felt every inch of him.
“Harmony,” he groaned, forehead pressed to mine. “Fuck.”
We moved together in long, deep strokes, it wasn’t rushed, we weren’t frantic, it was just connection in its purest form. When release hit, it tore through me, my cry muffled against his shoulder as he came with a low, guttural sound that shook me.
After, he gathered me against his chest. My breath steadied.
His heartbeat slowed beneath my cheek. And for the first time in years, the silence didn’t feel like a threat.
It felt like a place I could rest. That night I slept safe in Eric’s arms, feeling a sense of contentment I hadn’t felt in a long time.
Light crept across the quilt, soft and gold. I woke warm and safe, tucked beneath Eric’s arm. His face was peaceful in sleep, unguarded, and younger somehow. I traced the inside of his forearm with a fingertip, and he stirred, lashes fluttering.
“You watching me?” he murmured, voice rough.
“Maybe.”
“That’s dangerous.” His lips brushed my shoulder. “You look at me like that, I’ll think you want me to stay in this bed all day.”
“It’s not a bad idea.”
He smirked… and then he disappeared beneath the covers.
“Eric, what are you . . .Oh.”
My world shattered into silence as his mouth found me again, tongue stroking deep.
I choked out a moan, already trembling, and reached under the blanket until I found him thick and hot in my hand.
I stroked him as he devoured me, and the dual sensation pushed us both over the edge fast. We finished breathless.
“Very nice wake-up,” I whispered.
“I could get used to it.” He smiled.
Warmth settled through me as Eric’s breathing slowed.
It felt terrifying and steadying all at once, like I was finally letting myself want something that wasn’t survival.
His arm was wrapped around my waist, his lips brushing my hair every few breaths.
My heart hadn’t caught up with my body yet.
Everything we had done, everything we had said without saying it…
it sat between us like something fragile and new.
Eric shifted just enough to see my face. “You’re quiet,” he murmured.
“I’m thinking,” I whispered.
His thumb brushed a slow line over my hip. “About last night?”
Heat rose in my cheeks. “About… us.”
He went still, not tense, just waiting. Eric always gave space to truth. It was both comforting and terrifying.
“I didn’t expect this,” I said softly. “Not with everything going on. Not with how complicated things are.”
“Sunshine,” he whispered, voice low and serious, “none of this is complicated for me.”
I swallowed hard. “It feels complicated for me.”
He shifted onto his side so our faces were inches apart. “Tell me.”
“I don’t know where we stand,” I said. “I don’t know what last night meant to you.”
The air thickened. Eric cupped my cheek gently, his thumb stroking once, slow and reassuring.
“It meant everything,” he said. “I don’t touch you casually. I never have.”
My breath caught.
“I know you’ve been carrying your past like armor,” he went on, voice steady.
“I know trust isn’t easy for you. But I want you to know something.
” He leaned in, forehead resting against mine.
“I’m here,” he whispered. “Not because of the danger. Not because you’re in my house. I’m here because it’s you.”
The words broke something open inside me. “Eric…”
He kissed my cheek, my jaw, the corner of my mouth.
“I don’t need labels right this second,” he said. “I don’t need answers you’re not ready for. But I need you to know this isn’t temporary. This isn’t a mistake. And I’m not going anywhere.”
Warmth spread through me like slow, steady light.
I traced the edge of his jaw with my fingertips. “I don’t want last night to be the last time.”
His eyes darkened, not with hunger but something deeper. “I don’t either.”
A long silence stretched between us, comfortable now, softer. He ran his fingers down my spine and I melted into the touch.
“When you’re ready,” he said quietly, “we can talk about what this becomes. But for now? Just stay. Here. With me.”
My chest tightened. “I want that.”
His smile was small and warm. “Good.”
He pulled the blanket over us and held me closer, his breath brushing my shoulder, his hand splayed against my back like he was anchoring me in place. And for the first time in years, I felt something I hadn’t let myself feel.
Wanted.
Safe.
Chosen.
His warmth wrapped around me and for a moment I let myself believe it could really be this simple. Until my throat got scratchy and I began to cough. It was terrible timing, but completely out of my control.
I laughed, despite my dry throat. “My voice is gone.”
“The heater dries the place out,” he said, climbing out of bed. “I’ll get coffee going.”
He turned, and I caught the shape of his body in the morning light—strong, sculpted, steady.
“Damn, Thorne,” I said, “not bad for a baker.”
He grinned. “I train with the fire department.”
“Then why do you still bake?”
His expression shuttered. “That’s… complicated.” He kissed my shoulder and slipped downstairs.
I pulled his flannel shirt around me and reached for my laptop to check a Petals and Pines invoice. Normal things. Safe things.
But a red notification blinked on the screen.
Encrypted message received.
1 attempt. Deleted before view.
Sender: A string of symbols I knew too well.
One of Marcel’s old fail-safe channels.
My stomach lurched.
Before I could screenshot it. . . the message vanished. Fear crawled down my spine. I shut the laptop. Eric couldn’t see that. Not now. Not after last night. I headed downstairs. He turned when he heard me, a mug waiting in his hand.
“How’d you sleep?” he asked gently.
“Better than I have in years.”
He smiled. “Good. You needed that.”
Before I could sit, my phone buzzed.
Becket.
“Go ahead,” Eric said.
I opened the text.
Becket: Break-ins on Main Street. Back doors forced. Keep an eye out.
My heart dropped.
“Main Street?” Eric’s voice sharpened. “The shop.”
“I need to check on Petals and Pines.”
“You’re not going alone.” His tone left no room for debate. “Finish your coffee. We’ll go together.”
But even as I nodded, dread curled under my ribs.