Chapter 37
Chapter thirty-seven
The door creaks when I push it open, a small, familiar sound that says I’m home before anything else does. I step aside to let Lilah in first. She runs her fingertips along the doorframe like she’s remembering something or maybe writing a new chapter in her mind.
Inside, the cottage is the same as I left it—lamps on, books everywhere, and the faint smell of peppermint tea hanging in the air.
She doesn’t speak at first; she just wanders through like she’s rediscovering something she hadn’t known she’d lost. I lean against the doorway, watching her.
There’s something reverent in the way she moves.
She turns, something flickering behind her eyes. ‘You know I wrote this place into my book.’
My brows pull in. ‘You wrote it?’
She crosses to the desk under the front window, the one with paint flecks and old coffee rings, the piece that came with the place like a relic no one dared toss. Her fingers graze its surface. A small, quiet smile curls at her lips.
‘Eli’s house,’ she tells me. ‘In my book. The one with the overgrown garden, chipped mugs, and a desk in the front window. It’s always this place.’
My heart thuds once, hard. How did I not make the connection when I read her book?
She looks over her shoulder at me, eyes glimmering. ‘I didn’t mean to. I used to walk past it all the time when I first moved here. It felt like a secret no one had told yet. When I imagined Eli’s home, his safe place, it was always this.’
I swallow, chest tightening. ‘You made me a safe place.’
She nods slowly. ‘Yeah. I guess I did.’
I step forward and let my fingers brush her knuckles. ‘So, what happens now? After the last page?’
She moves closer, chin lifted slightly, her eyes lock on mine. ‘Now we write the next one.’
I reach up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, my fingers trailing down her cheek. Then I kiss her, it is slow, unhurried. As if I have all the time in the world, and maybe I do. She leans into me, arms curling around my neck, her mouth soft and certain against mine.
I move to the curve of her jaw, then lower, to the place where her pulse flutters beneath her skin. Her knees wobble, and I catch her by the waist. She laughs as we tumble back together, a breathless sound that hits me straight in the chest.
I kiss her again, harder this time. She tastes like wine. As she moans softly into my mouth, I lose all shred of control I have left. I walk her backward until her spine meets the wall, her legs wrap around my waist with practised ease.
Clothes come off in pieces, my shirt dragged over my head, and pants shoved down impatiently.
I tear her dress off, her bra hits the floor, and my mouth is on her before I can think.
Kissing down the curve of her neck, tracing my tongue along the swell of her breast before sucking one nipple between my lips.
Her body arches into me like she needs more, always more.
‘Lucas,’ she breathes, threading her fingers into my hair as I drop to my knees.
I grip her thighs, pulling her closer and kissing the inside of her knee, slow and deliberate.
She lets out a choked sound as I press my mouth to the softness between her legs.
She is already wet and trembling for me.
I move my tongue slowly to her clit, and she gasps, head thrown back with one hand braced against the wall.
I don't stop. I dance my tongue around her.
I need her to come undone. Her hips buck, her thighs tremble around my head, and when I suck her clit into my mouth, she cries out raw and unfiltered.
She comes with a shudder, legs quaking, fingers fisted in my hair.
I stand kissing her again, letting her taste herself on my lips, and she moans into it, pulling me closer.
‘Bed,’ she whispers against my mouth. ‘Now.’
We barely make it.
I lay her down gently, then slide into her slowly, both of us breathless at the stretch and heat. She clings to me, nails digging into my shoulders, thighs wrapped tight around my waist as I start to move. Deep, steady strokes that had her gasping into my neck, whispering my name like it is holy.
‘You feel so good,’ she murmurs, voice shaking.
‘So do you,’ I groan. ‘You’re perfect, fuck Lilah.’
Her hips lift to meet mine, our bodies moving like they’d always known how to find each other.
I slip a hand between us, thumb circling her clit, and she shatters again.
It is loud, unrestrained, and beautiful.
I'm not far behind her. I press my forehead to hers, kiss her lips, her cheek, her jaw. I spill inside her with a hoarse groan.
We lay tangled in the aftermath, sweaty, gasping, hearts still racing. She looks at me, eyes glassy, lips swollen, and says softly, ‘That didn’t feel like pretending.’
I brush her hair back from her face, kiss her once more, and whisper, ‘I won’t ever pretend with you.’
I wake before the sun. The cottage is still with that pre-dawn quiet that feels like the world hasn’t remembered to wake yet. Even in the quiet, I can feel her. She’s curled on her side beside me, one arm tucked beneath her cheek, hair a mess of sleep-creased waves.
Light starts to filter through the lace curtains, brushing her skin with the faintest gold.
Her breath comes slow and even. One hand twitches like she’s dreaming.
I watch the rise and fall of her shoulders and feel something in me finally go quiet.
Not because of the night we just had, although, yeah, that was incredible.
But because waking up to her feels like something I hadn’t realised I’d been missing. Not just desire, but home.
I slip out of bed as quietly as I can, grab the hoodie from the back of the door, and tug it over yesterday’s shirt. The floor creaks, Lilah doesn’t stir.
The kitchen smells like her—lavender, vanilla, and something warm I can’t name, only feel. I pull a mixing bowl, open the fridge, and start taking things out like a man on a mission. I use the good maple syrup I bought on impulse at the markets. I whisk the batter slowly.
The first pancake hits the pan with a soft sizzle. I rake a hand through my hair, glancing towards the bedroom. Still quiet.
I turn back to the stove and mutter, ‘Okay, Castle. You survived finals week, a full shop reno, and that time Jasper signed you up for ‘80s power ballad karaoke. You can handle pancakes.’
It isn’t just breakfast, it’s a thing. It’s the thing. I stack them carefully, top with blueberries, a bit of butter, and a slow drizzle of syrup. I reach for the mug with the little crescent moon on the handle and fill it with coffee, just how she likes it.
Standing there with two plates and a nervous hope curling in my chest, all I can think is, please let her feel safe here. Please let this feel like coming home.
There is movement behind me. I look over my shoulder, smiling. ‘Morning.’
Lilah crosses the kitchen and wraps her arms around my waist from behind, her cheek resting between my shoulder blades. ‘You’re making me pancakes?’
‘Blueberry,’ I say, a little too proud. ‘Because you once told me they taste like home.’
She pulls back just enough to look up at me. ‘You remembered that?’
‘I remember everything,’ I admit, cheeks warming as I focus a little too hard on plating. ‘Also, I have a question.’
She lifts a brow and steals a blueberry off the edge of the plate. ‘Yeah?’
I clear my throat. ‘So, uh, I’m wondering if maybe, purely hypothetically, you’d want to be my girlfriend?’
She laughs, bright and a little breathless. ‘Hypothetically?’
‘I mean, unless you’re allergic to labels. Then I can call it a “romantic, exclusive narrative partnership.”’
She snorts. ‘Lucas Castle, are you trying to nerd your way into my heart?’
‘Too late,’ I say, handing her the plate. ‘I’m already in.’
She kisses me softly and I know she is all in. ‘Yes,’ she whispers against my mouth. ‘I’m in, too.’
When we land on the bed again, breathless and tangled. Pancakes forgotten for now, as the world narrows to skin and laughter. It is love that doesn’t need an audience.
Lilah rolls on top of me, fingers sliding into my hair. ‘You know,’ she says, still catching her breath, ‘I’m starting to think this place is cursed.’
I grin, hands firm on her hips. ‘Cursed how?’
She smirks. ‘I can’t seem to keep my clothes on.’
I laugh, low and unguarded. ‘Then I guess I’ll never let you leave.’
My hands map her like I’m learning her body for the first time, even though I already know it better than my own. Every gasp, every soft sigh feels sacred. There’s no rush. No walls.
Just us, and the truth.