Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
MILO
I took a moment to truly admire the way Calder filled the doorway.
He engulfed the space so completely that the warm cabin light barely reached past him beyond the porch.
One hand hung loose at his side while the other stayed closed around something small in his palm.
He’d lowered his head slightly beneath the porch roof, and whether that was because of the height or because he was trying not to loom, I couldn’t tell.
What I did know was that the second I saw him standing there, something tight in me finally unraveled.
I’d been listening for him for the better part of an hour.
I hadn’t waited dramatically by the window or anything equally humiliating, but every sound outside had pulled my attention anyway. Branches scraping the roof or the wind moving through the trees or footsteps that turned out to be nothing.
So when I opened the door before he could knock, neither of us looked particularly surprised.
“Calder.” His name came out rougher than usual, like I’d been holding my breath too long.
His eyes stayed on me. Whatever he carried was still closed carefully in his hand.
I stepped back and opened the door wider. “Come in.”
Calder’s gaze moved briefly past me, taking in the cabin in one quiet sweep before he stepped forward. Then I caught the quick glance upward toward the frame.
I bit back a smile. “Watch your head.”
He glanced at me once, clearly aware I was trying not to laugh at him fitting through the doorway.
Then he ducked and stepped inside.
The movement should’ve looked ridiculous. A seven-foot cryptid trying not to hit his head on the ceiling of a tiny Wisconsin cabin probably belonged in a completely different genre of story.
Instead, all I could focus on was how graceful he entered.
The way he angled himself automatically to avoid the frame and adjusted when the old floorboards creaked beneath his weight, like he was trying not to put pressure on the weakest parts.
He was trying not to damage anything.
I closed the door behind him, and the cabin immediately felt smaller, yet not crowded somehow—warmer.
Silence stretched between us.
Calder stood near the door with cold air and forest scent still clinging to him, one massive hand curled around whatever he’d brought. And some ridiculous part of my brain was still stuck on one simple fact: he came back.
“You made it,” I said finally.
Calder’s ears twitched once. “You asked me to come.”
The words were simple, matter-of-fact, and somehow that made them worse. Because he had listened. Because this mattered to him enough that he’d come.
Calder lifted his hand slightly. “This is for you.”
“For me?”
“Yes.”
I approached him and held out my hand. Calder opened his fingers slowly, placing the object carefully into my palm.
A stone, smooth and cool from the evening air, dark gray with a pale streak cutting through the center like a line of river light trapped inside it. It wasn’t polished or flashy, just beautiful in a way that immediately made sense coming from him.
I turned it once beneath the cabin light. “You found this?”
“Yes.”
But it wasn’t just finding it.
I could tell that immediately.
He had noticed it, chosen it, and brought it here intentionally.
For me.
My thumb traced the pale line through the center. “It’s beautiful,” I murmured.
Calder watched my face with a focus that made it very obvious he cared what I thought of it. And honestly? That meant more than the stone itself.
I glanced back up at him. “Thank you.”
Some of the tension in his posture eased slightly. Subtle, but there.
I set the stone carefully on the small table beside the couch before I accidentally dropped it trying to pretend I wasn’t emotionally compromised by receiving a rock from a cryptid.
“Do you want something to drink?” I asked. “Water? Or…” I glanced toward the fridge. “Actually, have you ever had soda?”
Calder frowned slightly, like he wasn’t sure whether that counted as a serious question. “… No,” he said after a pause. A faint flicker touched the corner of his mouth. Not a full smile, but close enough that warmth spread through me anyway.
“Okay,” I said quickly, before my brain got weird about that. “You’re trying soda tonight.”
I moved toward the kitchen while Calder hovered near the wall, watching the room carefully, yet somehow without looking uncomfortable, like he was still figuring out how much space he was allowed to occupy here.
That hit me harder than I expected, because standing there in my kitchen, watching him instinctively make himself smaller in a place that had never been built for someone like him, I realized something with sudden, uncomfortable clarity: I didn’t want him to feel out of place here. Not even a little.
I grabbed two sodas from the fridge and handed him one.
Calder took the can carefully, turning it over in his hand. “… It is sealed.”
A laugh burst out of my mouth. “Yes. That’s generally how cans work.”
His eyes narrowed slightly at the sound of my laughter, more from curiosity than annoyance. Then he studied the can again. “How does it open?”
“Oh my God,” I muttered, delighted. I stepped closer and pointed at the tab. “Here.”
Calder watched carefully while I opened mine first. The sharp hiss of carbonation made his ears twitch immediately. Interesting. Very interesting.
His gaze dropped to my can, then to his.
Slowly, carefully, he copied the motion.
The second the can popped open, Calder flinched.
I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I almost injured myself trying not to laugh. “It’s okay,” I promised. “The soda isn’t attacking you.”
Calder looked deeply unconvinced. Still, after a second, he lifted the can and took a cautious sip, then paused. Multiple emotions flickered across his face–confusion, surprise, and suspicion.
“… It burns.”
I lost the fight and laughed outright. “It’s carbonation.”
“It is aggressive.”
That only made me laugh harder, for one brief second Calder just watched me, far from confusion this time–focused.
My laughter faded, and the cabin suddenly felt very small again.
Calder lowered the drink slightly. “You enjoy this.”
“I enjoy watching you experience soda for the first time in your entire existence.”
A pause.
“… That is fair.”
God, that almost-smile happened again.
Silence stretched between us, but not awkwardly.
“You still came,” I whispered.
His gaze held mine. “You asked me to.”
There it was again, that impossible directness, like he still didn’t realize the effect those simple answers had on me.
I took a slow breath. “Calder…”
Something in his posture changed immediately at the sound of his name, fully aware of my presence.
After a long moment, he admitted, “I do not understand what you are doing to me.”
The honesty nearly undid me on the spot. “What do you think I’m doing?”
“You stand close,” he said carefully. “You look at me as though there is no reason not to.”
My heart stumbled hard enough that I actually felt it, because he meant what he said. He genuinely couldn’t understand why I wasn’t afraid of him. “That’s because there isn’t one.”
Calder went still, as though some instinctive part of him didn’t know what to do with those words.
“This is dangerous for you.”
Finally, something specific, not vague warnings or distance or carefully controlled avoidance.
“You don’t get to decide that for me,” I told him.
His gaze sharpened, but I kept going.
“I know what you are, Calder. I’m not pretending otherwise.” I took another slow step toward him. “I’m just not reacting the way you think I should.”
The space between us narrowed until the heat of him surrounded me.
Calder stopped breathing for half a second, and that was when I finally understood: he didn’t just want this, he was fighting it.
I searched his face, looking for any sign that I’d misunderstood.
There wasn’t one.
My hand rose slowly toward him, and he didn’t move away.
The contact was light, careful. The instant my palm touched him, every part of Calder seemed to focus completely on it.
Controlled, like the restraint itself had become physical.
His breathing changed first, then mine.
I became aware of everything all at once: the warmth beneath my hand, the size of him, and the way he stayed perfectly still instead of pulling away. Most important of all, neither of us was pretending anymore.
My eyes lingered on his mouth.
Calder lowered his head just enough to close the distance between us.
Everything else seemed to fall away.
There wasn’t any dramatic rush or cinematic lightning strike—just a choice.
I leaned in slowly, giving him every chance to stop me.
He didn’t.
Our lips finally met, softly at first, just enough pressure to cross the line we’d both been circling since the hollow.
Calder went completely tense beneath my hand, concentrating.
I felt it immediately—the caution, the restraint. The carefulness of someone experiencing this for the first time and trying desperately not to do it wrong.
And God, that did something devastating to me.
I claimed his mouth again, firmer this time, with more pressure.
My hand curled slightly against him, giving him something to answer instead of merely enduring.
For a heartbeat, he stayed motionless. Then he kissed me back.
Tentative at first, testing the feeling.
His hand came to my side, resting there with controlled, unmistakable strength. Even through the carefulness of it, I could feel how easily he could overpower me.
Instead, he held me like something fragile, and heat rushed through me.
The kiss deepened in small adjustments rather than sudden intensity. Calder learned quickly—tilting his head slightly, changing pressure carefully, paying attention to every reaction like he was memorizing me in real time.
Nothing about it felt practiced.
That was what made it overwhelming.
He wasn’t smooth. He was sincere.
Every careful touch carried intention behind it and somewhere in the middle of that realization, Calder made a low sound against my mouth.
Not a growl, but something rougher… unrestrained.
The sound went straight through me.
I broke the kiss before I completely lost my ability to think, giving myself just enough room to breathe.
Calder stayed close, his hand still at my side like he hadn’t decided whether letting go was possible yet.
Neither of us spoke immediately.
We just stood there breathing the same air.
Then Calder moved first, only a millimeter closer but enough that I felt the choice in it. His head dipped again before his mouth brushed mine a second time, softer and more certain. That tightened my middle even more, because this was Calder deciding he wanted it too.
I leaned into him instinctively, because it felt right.
Because it felt—God, it sounded insane, even in my own head—but it felt like something that had been waiting to happen long before I’d shown up in this forest with nothing more than a camera and too much curiosity.
The next kiss stayed slower than I expected, more deliberate than hungry. Calder adjusted with growing confidence every time I responded, learning what made me move closer, what made my breathing catch, what made my fingers tighten unconsciously against him.
The awareness in his touch nearly destroyed me, because every movement said the same thing: he was learning me.
When I finally pulled back again, it was only because I genuinely didn’t trust myself not to keep going.
I stayed close anyway.
So did he.
The air between us felt entirely different now.
Warmer.
Heavier.
I let out a quiet breath that almost turned into a laugh.
“Well,” I said, voice rougher than usual, “that definitely made things less simple.”
Calder looked at me with a certainty in his eyes that weakened my knees. “It did not feel wrong.”
The carefulness of the words nearly hurt, like he still didn’t trust himself to say something larger than that.
My mouth curved before I could stop it. “No,” I murmured. “It really didn’t.”
Neither of us seemed eager to break the moment. Then I caught myself looking at his mouth again and forced my gaze back to his eyes with a muttered, “Okay. Yeah. I’m gonna need a minute.”
That broke the tension, my insides tingling with the gruff noise that burst from his lips.
And standing there in the warm cabin light with Calder’s hand still resting carefully against my side like he hadn’t entirely decided to let go—I had a very strong feeling I wasn’t getting that minute anytime soon.