Chapter Eleven
Juniper
I stayed in the bedroom for most of the day. I’m not ready to put all my eggs in Elias’s basket, but I also don’t want to be anything other than a wife. There’s a quiet knock at the door again.
Elias lets himself inside. “I need to say some things,” Elias says quietly
I nod.
He steps closer, then closer still, until he’s standing in front of me. He doesn’t touch me, but his words do.
“I was a coward. I’ve been a coward, not because I don’t want you, but because I want you too damn much. You came into my life like a wildfire—hot and bright and full of color—and I didn’t know how to let you stay.”
My breath shudders.
He presses on. “I told myself this marriage was a means to an end, but it’s not. It hasn’t been for a long time. I wake up every morning and check to see if you’re still here. I watch the way you hum when you cook. I breathe easier when I hear you laugh.”
My vision blurs again.
“I love you, Juniper. I want you. Not as a roommate or a temporary fix. I want you as my wife, my partner, my damn heart.”
He finally reaches for me. One hand on my cheek, the other resting over my heart.
“I built you something, out back. I’ve been working on it for the last week and it’s almost finished. Will you come see it?”
Still stunned and speechless, I nod.
He takes my hand and leads me outside, through the trees to the edge of the clearing. The rain has stopped, and the sun is breaking through golden clouds.
It’s a greenhouse. Rustic and charming, made of reclaimed windows and warm cedar. Inside, rows of planters wait for seedlings. Hanging baskets dangle from hooks. In the center is a wooden swing, painted a soft lavender. Above the entrance is a carved sign: Juniper’s Garden.
I cover my mouth. “You built this?”
“Every nail. Every hinge. I wanted you to have something of your own here. Something that says this is your home too.”
I turn and launch myself into his arms. “I love you, too, so much.”
His mouth crashes to mine, but this kiss is different. Tender. Sure. Full of promise. He walks me back toward the cabin, never breaking contact, until we’re inside, in our bedroom.
He undresses me like I’m something fragile. I undress him like I’ve been waiting a lifetime. There’s no rush. No frenzy. Just touches that burn and whispers that soothe.
He lays me on the bed and brushes my hair from my forehead.
“I love you,” he says again, staring into my eyes. “I’m going to be the best husband, you’ll see.”
“I believe you, Elias. I love you. Now, make love to me.”
He kisses my neck, slow and reverent, his hands tracing the curve of my waist, the swell of my breasts. I arch into his touch, craving more. When he takes a nipple into his mouth, I gasp, fisting the sheets.
“God, Juniper… you’re so damn beautiful.”
His hand slides down between my thighs. He strokes me gently, then with purpose, until I’m gasping his name, my hips lifting off the bed.
“I want to make you come just like this,” he whispers, fingers moving in slow circles. “I want you to feel how much I want you.”
“Elias, please…”
He groans, kissing me hard as I fall apart under his hand, shaking and breathless.
When he finally presses inside me, it’s with aching tenderness. He stills, breathing heavily against my neck.
“You okay?”
I wrap my legs around his waist. “Yes. God, yes.”
He moves slowly, deliberately, watching every flicker of emotion cross my face. Each stroke is deep and sweet and overwhelming.
“I’ve never felt like this,” he murmurs, kissing my jaw. “You’re everything.”
We move together, bodies slick with sweat, moans tangled in the air between us. When I come again, it’s with a sob, clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping me anchored.
He follows with a groan, holding me so tight I can feel the shake in his arms.
Later, when the air is thick with the scent of sweat and woodsmoke, I find myself straddling him in the afterglow. His hands rest on my hips, eyes dark and hungry as he watches me rise and fall, slow.
“You feel like heaven,” he says, voice wrecked. “Like I’ve been waiting my whole damn life for this.”
I lean down and kiss him, tongue tangling with his as his hands spread across my back. We move together again, this time slower, more intentional, like we’re memorizing every second.
He flips us gently, kissing my breasts, worshipping every inch of skin like it’s sacred.
“You’re not the solution to a problem,” he growls into my skin. “You’re the reason I’m still breathing.”
He makes love to me until I’m crying again—not from pain, not from sadness—but from being seen and being cherished.
When we finally collapse together, tangled and exhausted, he gathers me against his chest, wraps the blankets around us, and kisses the top of my head.
“I want a life with you, Juniper. This cabin. That garden. You, me, and Wren. Every damn day.”
I smile against his chest. “Then it’s yours. I’m yours.”
We fall asleep like that. Worn out. Loved up. Finally whole.