Chapter 19 Reed
Reed
Eliza stumbles slightly from the sudden release of tension.
“Fine,” I breathe. “Go check on your animals.”
She blinks, clearly surprised by my capitulation. “I… fine. Good.”
She wraps the scarf around her neck and heads for the door, but I’m already reaching for my coat.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Coming with you.”
“Reed, your ankle—”
“Will be fine for a short walk.” I pull on my jacket, ignoring the way she stares at me. “Besides, someone needs to make sure you don’t blow away in this wind.”
“I told you I can take care of myself.”
“Trust me, I know.”
She opens her mouth to argue, then seems to think better of it. “If you fall and hurt yourself worse, I’m leaving you in a snowbank.”
“Deal.”
The blizzard hits us like a physical force the moment we step outside. Snow drives horizontally across the yard, and the wind is loud enough that we have to shout to hear each other. Eliza takes my arm—whether to steady me or herself, I’m not sure—and we trudge toward the barn.
Inside, it’s blissfully quiet and warm. The animals look up at our entrance but seem completely unbothered by the storm. Chiron stands in his stall, methodically working through a pile of hay, while the goats huddle together in their pen like furry conspirators.
“Great,” Eliza says, brushing snow from her jacket. “Completely fine.”
I watch her move through the barn, checking water levels and adjusting blankets. “They’re lucky to have you.”
“They’re easy. Animals make sense. Feed them, keep them warm, give them space when they need it.” She pauses at Persephone’s stall. “No hidden agendas or complicated emotions.”
“Is that what you think I have? Hidden agendas?”
Eliza leans against the stall door, suddenly looking exhausted. “I don’t know what you have, Reed. That’s the problem.”
I move closer, my ankle protesting. “Want to know what I’m really afraid of?”
She glances up, wary. “What?”
“That I’m going to fail. That this whole tree business is just an expensive way to prove my father right.” I settle onto a hay bale, stretching my injured leg. “That I’ll end up in his office, wearing a suit and pretending to care about profit margins and market penetration.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“How do you know?”
“You care too much about your trees to give up on them.” Eliza sits across from me. “And you’re too stubborn to let your father win.”
“I’ve been letting him win my whole life.” The words taste bitter. “Every family dinner when I bit my tongue instead of arguing. Every time he dismissed my interests as phases. Even at the presentation, I stood there while he humiliated me.”
“You didn’t stand there. You kept your cool.”
“Only because I didn’t want to make a scene.”
Eliza looks at her hands. “There’s strength in choosing your battles.”
“You’d know. You’re always strong.”
The words hang between us in the warm air, mixing with the sounds of animals settling for the night. Chiron munches contentedly on his hay, occasionally glancing our way like he’s eavesdropping.
“My mother used to tell me I was her favorite,” Eliza says suddenly. “Every time she showed up after being gone for weeks or months, she’d say I was the only one who understood her. That we had a special connection.”
I wait, sensing there’s more.
“I believed her. Every single time. Even when Eden was crying because Mom missed her school play, or when Eila got in trouble because no one was there to sign her permission slips.” Eliza’s voice gets quieter. “I thought being her favorite meant something. That it made me special.”
“Eliza…”
“But it didn’t. She left anyway, and when she came back, she’d tell one of my sisters the exact same thing.” Eliza looks up at me. “So when you say I’m strong, that you want me, part of me wonders what you’ll say to the next woman when you get tired of this one.”
The comparison stings deep. “I’m not your mother.”
“Logically, I know that. But knowing something and feeling it are different things.”
I stand up, ignoring the twinge in my ankle, and sit beside her on the hay bale. “What would help you feel it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe therapy? My sisters have been going, and they seem… better. Less likely to set things on fire when they’re upset.”
“That sounds like a good idea.”
“For them. I don’t know if it would work for me.”
“Why not?”
Eliza shrugs. “Admitting I need help feels like admitting I’m broken.”
“Or it feels like admitting you’re human.” I bump her shoulder gently. “Tell you what… I’ll go to therapy if you do.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it? We could make it a competition. See who makes the most progress.”
Despite herself, Eliza smiles. “You want to turn mental health into a contest?”
“I want to turn it into something you can win. You’re competitive as hell, and if there’s a chance you can beat me at something, you’ll try.”
“You’re not wrong.” She considers this. “Instead of spending fifteen thousand on tree damage, we’ll spend it on therapy bills.”
“An excellent investment.”
“Definitely.” Eliza turns to face me more fully. “But I’m warning you now—I’m going to win this mental health challenge.”
“Bring it on, Storm.”
Her name fits her perfectly—unpredictable, powerful, impossible to ignore. And when she looks at me like she is now, with something soft and hopeful in her eyes, I feel like I’m standing in the eye of the hurricane.
“Reed?” she says quietly.
“Yeah?”
“I’m scared.”
“Of what?”
“Of how much I want this. Want you.” She takes a shaky breath. “Of how much it’s going to hurt when you figure out I’m not worth the trouble.”
“Eliza.” I cup her face in my hands. “You are worth every bit of trouble. You’re worth fighting for, worth waiting for, worth whatever chaos comes with loving you.”
“Loving me?”
The words slipped out, but I don’t take them back. “Yeah. Loving you. I’m setting that as a goal.”
Her eyes search my face like she’s looking for signs of deception. Whatever she sees must satisfy her, because she leans forward and kisses me.
It’s soft at first, tentative, like she’s not entirely sure this is real. But when I kiss her back, when I pull her closer and she makes this small sound of surprise and pleasure, everything changes.
This isn’t the almost-kiss from the kitchen or the cheek kiss outside Esther’s house. This is Eliza deciding to trust me, to stop running, to let herself want something good.
Her hands fist in my borrowed flannel shirt as she deepens the kiss, and I can taste the sweetness of the cookies we shared earlier. She’s warm and alive and here, and for the first time in weeks, I’m not worried about what comes next.
When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
“Wow,” Eliza says.
“Yeah. Wow.”
She grins that mischievous expression I’ve learned to love and fear in equal measure. “So… now what?”
“Now…” I trace my thumb along her cheekbone. “I’d really like to make you feel good.”
Her breath catches. “Reed…”
“Only if you want. No pressure, no expectations. I just…” I search for words. “I want to touch you. I want to know what you sound like when you’re not holding back.”
“We don’t have… I mean, we’re in a barn.”
“You’ve never wanted to get a little naughty out here?” I arch a brow and lean a little closer, half because of my ankle and half because I need to feel her against more of my body.
Understanding dawns in her eyes, followed immediately by want. “Oh.”
“Is that a yes?”
Instead of answering, she kisses me again, harder this time, with an urgency that makes my head spin. Her hands slide under my shirt, fingernails scraping lightly against my chest, and I groan against her mouth.
“Yes,” she breathes. “Definitely yes.”
I ease her onto the hay, mindful of the scratchy surface, kissing my way down her neck while she arches beneath me.
“Wait.” She spins out from beneath my body and yanks a blanket from where it’s draped on a beam. “The hay is poky.” She smooths out the blanket as I watch and then nestles her body into the makeshift nest. “Okay, continue.”
I huff a laugh at her enthusiasm, but hurry to pick up where I stopped. I shove her layers out of the way, licking her exposed skin. She smells like vanilla and wood smoke and something uniquely her I want to memorize.
“Tell me what you like,” I murmur against her collarbone.
“I don’t know. I mean, I know what I like when I’m alone, but with someone else…” She sounds breathless, uncertain.
I meet her eye, aware that she is telling me her previous partners haven’t prioritized her. The thought overwhelms me when all I can think about is her—her pleasure, her needs, her strong and capable body. I swallow a growl. “We’ll figure it out together.”
I take my time, despite the throb in my borrowed pants, learning the sensitive spot just below her ear that makes her gasp.
She shivers when I kiss the hollow of her throat.
When I reach for the hem of her sweater, she helps me pull it over her head, revealing a simple cotton bra that somehow looks incredibly sexy in the golden barn light.
She trembles briefly, and I nestle closer to her, hoping to lend her my heat. “You’re beautiful.”
“I’m practical,” she says, but she’s smiling.
“You’re beautiful and practical. And absolutely perfect.”
I kiss my way across her collarbone, down to the soft swell of her breasts, taking my time while she runs her fingers through my hair. It feels so good to be with her this way, tinkering with her magnificent body, invited to explore and touch and sip as much as I want.
And I want. I want very badly.
When I reach for the band of her bra, she nods, and I free her breasts to the chilly air.
“Reed,” she breathes when I take one nipple into my mouth, and the sound goes straight to my cock.
I lavish attention on her breasts while working her jeans open, taking cues from the sounds she makes and the way her hips move beneath me. When I slide my hand inside her panties, she’s already wet.