Chapter 9
Chapter nine
Maeve
The road home winds through the forest like it always has, but tonight everything feels changed. The cab of the truck smells like smoke and cider, and the windows fog faintly from our breath. Graham’s hand rests on my thigh, thumb moving in small circles that match the low rumble of the engine.
Neither of us talks. The silence isn’t empty; instead, it’s full. Full of what just happened at the bonfire, full of the kiss that made the whole town cheer, full of the knowledge that there’s no going back now.
The porch light glows when we pull up to the cabin. Graham turns off the engine but keeps his hand on me, eyes still on the windshield. His jaw flexes once, like he’s trying to find the right words.
“Graham?”
He exhales slowly. “Didn’t expect this.”
“Expect what?”
“You.” His voice is quiet, rough around the edges. “You came here and turned my whole life inside out.”
I wait, watching him in the dim light.
“I don’t let people in easily,” he says. “Never have. But you—” he shakes his head, “you made it impossible not to.”
I swallow hard.
His eyes flick toward me, and something in his expression softens. Then he admits. “I’ve never loved anyone like this. Not even close.”
The words land deep, right in that place I didn’t know was waiting for him. I reach for his hand and lace my fingers through his.
“You think I don’t already know?”
A faint smile touches his mouth. “You do, huh?”
“I’ve been in love with you since I was nineteen,” I whisper.
That makes him look at me fully, brows lifting. “Nineteen?”
“You and Connor used to come home from drills, and you’d sit at our table, trying not to laugh while my brothers argued over dinner.” I smile. “You’d always ask if I was keeping out of trouble. You thought I didn’t notice, but I noticed everything.”
He laughs under his breath, a low sound that feels like warmth spreading through the cab. “You shouldn’t have waited for me.”
“I didn’t wait. I just never stopped thinking about you.”
His fingers tighten around mine. Then he leans across the console and kisses me.
It starts soft, tentative, but the second his lips part mine, every thought dissolves. The tip of his nose brushes mine when he tilts his head, deepening the kiss, pulling me closer. His hand moves from my cheek to the back of my neck, his thumb tracing slow circles there until my skin hums.
He pulls away just enough to breathe. “Inside,” he murmurs.
Graham closes the door behind us, and before I can move, he’s there, his hands sliding to my hips, his breath warm against my ear.
“Still sure?” he asks, voice low.
I nod. “Still sure.”
He kisses me again, firmer this time, coaxing rather than taking. His fingers find the edge of my jacket and slide it off my shoulders, his palms grazing down my arms. The air between us grows heavier, full of small sounds—our breathing, the soft scrape of fabric, the faint crack of the fire.
I press my hands to his chest. Beneath my palms, his heart beats hard, steady, and mine.
“I was terrified you’d never let me get this close,” I whisper.
“You were already close,” he says. “I just had to stop fighting it.”
He kisses me again, slower now, each pass of his lips deliberate. My fingers catch in his shirt; his body presses against mine, all heat and solid strength. When he finally breaks away, we’re both breathing hard.
“Maeve,” he says, voice rough. “You undo me.”
“Good.”
He laughs softly and touches his forehead to mine. “You’re trouble.”
“You love it.”
“Yeah,” he breathes. “I do.”
We find our way to the bedroom. When he pulls me close again, the world narrows to the warmth of his body.
His hands move more slowly now, more certain. He traces the outline of my jaw, down my throat, across my collarbone, until I can feel every pulse of my heart under his fingertips. His mouth follows, soft kisses that make my skin feel alive.
I touch his face, feel the roughness of his jaw, the heat of his breath.
There’s nothing rushed about what follows—no urgency, no hesitation.
Just a rhythm that builds and softens, a language made of touch and breath.
He whispers my name like it’s something precious, and every time he says it, I feel it down to my bones.
When we are finally still, he keeps his forehead against mine. Our breathing syncs, slow and even. His thumb strokes the corner of my mouth, and he whispers the words I’ve been waiting for.
“I love you,” he says, rough but certain.
I smile through the tears that blur my vision. “I love you too.”
He kisses me once more, and everything inside me settles.
Later, we lie tangled in the sheets. Graham’s arm is heavy across my waist, his skin warm against mine. I trace slow lines down his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing.
“You realize Dottie’s never going to let us live that kiss down?” I murmur.
He chuckles, voice still husky. “She’ll be telling that story till next Christmas.”
“She already made us Pine Hollow’s gossip of the week.”
“I don’t mind,” he says. “If it means everyone knows you’re mine.”
The possessiveness in his voice sends a little flutter through me. I grin against his shoulder. “You like staking claims, huh?”
“Only when it’s you.”
He shifts, tightening his arm around me, his breath warm against my hair. “I meant what I said earlier.”
“Which part?”
“All of it.” His voice is quiet now, honest. “I love you,” He smiles and presses a kiss to my temple. “I don’t know if I deserve you, but I’m keeping you.”
I tilt my head to look at him. “I’m keeping you, too.”
He lets out a quiet laugh, then pulls me closer until I’m tucked fully against him. When he finally drifts off, his hand still rests against mine, his fingers curved lightly over my wrist.
For the first time since coming to Pine Hollow, I know where I belong.
I turn slightly, press a kiss to his chest, and whisper into the quiet, “You’re it for me, Graham.”
He stirs, half asleep. “Always.”
And just like that, the world feels settled.