Chapter 7 Kayley
SEVEN
KAYLEY
I’ve always thought people who fall fast are either reckless or lying.
Like—no offense to romance novels, but in real life you don’t meet a man in a snowstorm, get rescued into a mountain compound, and then melt into him on his couch like your body has been waiting your whole life for his hands.
That’s not real. That’s fiction. That’s a cover model and a tagline.
And yet.
Here I am, standing in Gavin’s cabin with my cheeks hot, my mouth swollen from his kiss, my heart doing this frantic, humiliating tap dance against my ribs.
Aidan lets out a tiny whimper in my arms, and the sound jolts me back into the only reality I actually trust. This baby. He needs me.
I pull him in closer, bouncing gently, the way Sophie taught me the first week she brought him home and looked at me like she’d aged ten years overnight.
“Shh,” I whisper. “It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you.”
Do I?
I rock him slowly, side to side, listening to the faint pop of the fire and the wind worrying at the walls outside.
The cabin is warm, but there’s still a cold thread under my skin—fear that doesn’t fully leave, even when the danger is technically handled by a squad of extremely competent mountain men.
Because I’m not scared of a prowler at the fence.
I’m scared of what I’m becoming in this place.
I’m scared of wanting something.
I’m scared of him.
Not in the way I was scared when I knocked on the gate, half convinced I’d be murdered and buried under the snow with a cute little epitaph like She Died With Great Eyeliner.
No.
I’m scared because Gavin kissed me like it mattered.
And I let him.
I wanted it.
I wanted it so badly my body practically sprinted toward him while my brain tripped over its own shoelaces trying to keep up.
I sway with Aidan until his little body softens, the tension leaving his tiny fingers. His lashes flutter, and then he’s gone again—deep, baby sleep, the kind that feels like a miracle when you’ve spent days counting breaths and praying.
I keep rocking anyway, because my hands are trembling now and I need something to do with them besides reach for Gavin again.
He’s still near the couch, standing with his hands braced on the back cushion like he’s holding himself in place. His eyes follow me—steady, intense, and way too aware.
Like he’s trying to decide whether to give me space or close the distance.
Like he’s fighting something in himself.
That should make me feel better.
Instead, it makes me want to cry. Because I don’t know how to do this.
I don’t know how to be a woman who kisses a man and doesn’t fall apart afterward.
I don’t know how to be the kind of woman who knows what she wants.
I especially don’t know how to be the kind of woman a man like Gavin would want.
“Kayley,” he says quietly, voice rough.
I look up, and my throat tightens so fast it almost hurts.
He’s so—big. Not just physically. He takes up space like the world expects him to. Like danger makes room for him.
And his eyes… God. They’re not just blue. They’re the kind of blue that feels like truth. Like you couldn’t lie to him if you tried.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt.
His brow furrows. “For what?”
“For—” I gesture vaguely with my elbow while still cradling the sleeping baby. “For… that.”
His mouth twitches, but there’s no humor in it. “Don’t apologize.”
“I didn’t mean to— I mean, I wasn’t thinking. And now I am thinking, which is worse, because—” I inhale shakily. “You shouldn’t be dealing with me like this. I’m a mess.”
He pushes off the couch and takes two slow steps toward me, careful, like he doesn’t want to spook me.
“You’re not a mess,” he says. “You’re a woman who’s been carrying too much by herself.”
My eyes burn. I blink hard. “You don’t know that.”
“I do,” he says, and the calm certainty in his voice makes something inside me wobble. “I saw you at that gate. You didn’t ask for help until you had no choice. That’s not weakness. That’s survival.”
I swallow. “If Sophie were here, she’d know what to do.” The words slip out before I can stop them. They hang in the air, raw and ugly.
Gavin’s expression changes instantly—softening, like a door unlatching. He stops a few feet away. “You miss her,” he says.
My laugh is broken. “Of course I miss her. She was my person. And I keep thinking any second she’s going to call me like she always did, all breathless and dramatic—‘Kay, the baby just sneezed and I’m pretty sure it was judgemental.’” My voice cracks on the last word.
Gavin doesn’t rush me. Doesn’t tell me to be strong. He just stands there, steady as a mountain, and lets me fall apart in little pieces.
“I promised her,” I whisper. “I promised I’d keep him safe. And I’m trying. God, I’m trying. But everything is happening so fast and I don’t know what my life looks like now.”
I glance down at Aidan’s sleeping face—his little nose, his soft cheeks, the tiny pout that makes him look like he’s already disappointed in the world.
“Sometimes I look at him and I’m so terrified I can’t breathe,” I admit. “Because what if I can’t do this? What if I’m not enough? What if Sophie chose the wrong person to make that promise?”
Gavin’s jaw tightens, and he takes another step closer. “You’re enough,” he says, voice low. “And you’re not doing it alone anymore.”
A laugh tries to bubble out of me—nervous, disbelieving. “That’s the part that scares me.”
His eyes narrow slightly. “Why?”
I hesitate. I hate this. I hate feeling things. I hate that the moment I stop moving, emotions catch up and tackle me to the ground. “Because I’ve never…,” I begin, then stop.
Gavin’s gaze stays steady. Patient. “Never what?”
I bite my lip, heat rushing into my face. “I’ve never been in love.”
The words feel ridiculous. Too big. Too dramatic.
But they’re true.
I’ve never even let myself get close enough to someone for that to be possible. Dating always felt like stepping near the edge of a cliff—everyone else leaning over, giggling, while I stood back thinking, No thanks, I enjoy having a spine.
And now?
Now I’m standing in a cabin on a mountain, whispering confessions to a man I met yesterday.
My cheeks burn hotter. “I’ve never even… kissed anyone.”
Silence.
My eyes flick up to Gavin’s, bracing for surprise. For disbelief. For him to laugh.
He doesn’t.
He goes still, like the air itself changed.
Then his voice drops, careful. “Tonight was your first kiss.”
I nod once, mortified.
Gavin swears softly under his breath—not angry. Something else. Something like reverence. Like restraint. He takes a slow breath. “Why?”
I shrug helplessly. “I don’t know. Life was busy. Sophie and I… we grew up fast. Took care of things. I never met someone who felt safe. And then after she had Aidan, I was focused on them, on money, on work—” I swallow. “On surviving.”
His eyes hold mine. “And now?”
Now there’s you, I think.
Now there’s a man who looks at me like I’m not broken.
Now there’s warmth and safety and the terrifying possibility that I might want more than survival.
I lower my voice. “Now I’m scared I’ll want something I can’t have.”
Gavin steps closer until he’s right in front of me. Close enough I can feel the heat coming off him. Close enough my lungs forget what they’re doing.
“What do you think you can’t have?” he asks.
I shake my head, swallowing hard. “You.”
His expression tightens, just for a second. Then his hand lifts, slowly, giving me time to pull away. He brushes his knuckles along my cheek. “You don’t know what I want,” he murmurs.
My breath catches. “I know you shouldn’t want me.”
“That’s not your call.”
My whole body goes alert, like I’m a tuning fork struck by his voice. The baby shifts in my arms, and I freeze, holding my breath. Aidan makes a soft sigh and settles again, tiny mouth puckering in his sleep.
Gavin’s eyes drop to the baby, then lift back to mine. “Put him down,” he says softly. “I’ll watch him.”
I hesitate.
He reads it instantly. “You don’t trust me with him?”
“It’s not that,” I whisper. “It’s that… if I put him down, I don’t know what I’ll do.”
Gavin’s mouth curves faintly. “Tell me what you want to do.”
My pulse thunders. That question is a trap. A gorgeous, bearded trap.
I swallow, voice barely there. “I want you to kiss me again.”
His gaze darkens. “Then put him down.”
I move carefully, like every sound could shatter the moment. I cross to the bassinet and lower Aidan into it, tucking the blanket around his tiny body, watching his chest rise and fall.
Alive. Warm. Safe.
I turn back.
Gavin’s watching me like he’s been starving and I’m the first real meal he’s seen in years.
And the look on his face makes my knees go weak.
He closes the distance in one slow step, then another, until I’m backed lightly against the edge of the kitchen counter.
Not trapped—held. His hands brace on either side of me, not touching yet.
“Kayley,” he says, voice a warning. “I’m not a casual man. ”
My breath stutters. “Good.”
His eyes flash. “You’re sure?”
I nod, and my voice comes out stronger than I feel. “I’m scared of a lot of things right now, Gavin. But I’m not scared of this.”
Something shifts in him.
He leans in and kisses me again—slow, deep, and careful, like he’s teaching my body a language it always should’ve known. His mouth is warm, and his beard brushes my skin, rough in the best possible way.
I make a small sound—surprise, pleasure, I don’t even know—and his hands finally slide to my waist, pulling me closer.
The pressure of him against me lights everything up.
I grip his shoulders, fingers digging into muscle under his shirt, and it hits me how solid he is. How real.
How safe.
His kiss turns hungrier, but he doesn’t rush. He keeps checking in—pausing just enough that I can breathe, that I can choose.
I choose him every time.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
I swallow, trembling. “Don’t stop.”
His thumb strokes my hip, slow. “You’re shaking.”