Chapter 34 Aspen
Aspen
I wake up too early, but I don’t even care.
The golden light spilling through the curtains is soft, warm like honey.
The world outside is still, blanketed in snow and silence, and for once the peace outside mirrors the quiet inside my chest, no storm of anxiety.
No chaos of thoughts, just stillness. Genevieve seems to be up already. She must be in the bathroom.
The sheets might be from Walmart, the mattress definitely secondhand, but right now it feels like I’m waking up in a five-star hotel suite.
Last night wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t just heat or tension or getting lost in her skin.
It was love, real, terrifying, beautiful, love, and we both said it, out loud.
Genevieve Brown told me she loves me. I’ve replayed it in my head a thousand times since.
I’m not sure what I did to deserve that moment, or her, but I know one thing for sure. I can’t screw this up.
I sit there for a while, soaking in the aftermath of everything. The bed is warm where she was, her scent still clinging to the pillow, sweet and soft like vanilla and something uniquely her. I run a hand through my hair, trying to clear my head, but it’s no use. I’m completely gone for her.
She’s supposed to leave tomorrow. Derek’s coming back and the guest apartment will go back to being his. It’ll be like she was never here, like this never happened. The thought of her leaving feels like getting kicked in the chest.
At least we will have one last night together tonight where I will take her over to our local bar and show her a few more things around town.
I don’t want normal anymore. I want her. I want coffee mugs on the counter and two toothbrushes by the sink. I want to wake up to her hair in my face and fall asleep with her heartbeat under my hand.
But I can’t ask her to stay. We’ve barely known each other for two weeks. What if I scare her off?
Still, I can’t stop wishing.
I finally peel myself out of bed and wander into the living room. The bathroom door is cracked open and dark inside. Empty. I rub my eyes and glance around, confused for a second before I spot her through the window.
She’s outside, wrapped in a blanket on the balcony, cradling a mug of something warm.
Her hair’s pulled up in a messy bun, a few strands falling loose around her face.
She’s barefoot, her knees tucked up on the chair, and she’s gazing out at the mountains like she’s memorizing every curve of the peaks.
I shrug on my coat and slide open the glass door. The cold hits me like a wall, biting at my skin and stealing my breath for a second.
“Good morning, Snowflake,” I say, my voice still thick with sleep. “How’d you sleep?” I give her a soft kiss on the lips.
She turns to look at me, her eyes soft and a little glassy. “Good morning. I slept great, how about you?”
“Same,” I say, stepping closer, “you okay?”
She hesitates then nods. “Yeah. Just wanted to breathe it all in one last time. I’m going to miss this when I leave.”
There it is again, that gut punch and I swallow it down.
“I get that,” I say quietly.
She shivers and I watch her pull the blanket tighter. She’s adorable like this, bundled up like a little Eskimo, nose pink from the cold, mug steaming in her lap. Without thinking, I shrug off my coat and hold it out to her.
“Here. Take this.”
She gives me a small smile, takes it, and slides her arms into the sleeves. There’s something about her in my clothes that undoes me. She looks like she belongs in them, like she belongs here with me.
She slips her hands into the coat pockets like she’s searching for warmth, then she freezes, her fingers close around something.
No. Please.
Her expression changes.
She pulls her hand out slowly, holding something between her fingers. A tiny glass vile.
No.
Panic hits like a freight train.
She straightens, holding the vile like it might explode.
Her voice cuts through the silence: “Aspen. What the hell is this?”
I go still. Cold, like I just stepped into a blizzard without a jacket. My chest constricts and I can’t breathe. My ears are ringing and my body frozen in place.
She straightens, her eyes locked on the baggie, trying to make sense of it.
“Aspen,” she says, her voice sharp and cold in a way I’ve never heard before. “What the hell is this?” she repeats.
My mind blanks. Panic rises like a wildfire in my throat.
I freeze.