Chapter 5
Grady
I wake with the shape of her in my arms and a quiet I haven’t felt in years.
Angel is pressed to my chest, the scent of her hair in my lungs.
Her body fits mine like she was made to.
Soft curves and sleepy warmth where I’ve only ever known cold.
For a second, I don’t move. Not because I’m afraid I’ll wake her, but because I question miracles and I’m afraid I’ll forget how this feels.
The tree cast a soft glow over her features. Her face is relaxed in a way that makes me want to protect whatever gave her that peace, just as she protected my peace last night.
I want to put my thumb against her plump bottom lip and feel it soften. I want to slide my hand beneath the hem of her shirt and feel her belly rise with her breath. I want to press my lips to her temple, her shoulder, her mouth. I want a lot of things I haven’t let myself want in years.
She stirs when I breathe too deep, her lashes fluttering against her cheek. Brown eyes blink open, still soft with sleep, and my body answers hers like it’s instinct. There’s a tug low in my gut, the kind that doesn’t care how much patience I’ve promised.
She blinks, still waking. “Did you sleep okay?”
I nod. “Best I have in a long time.”
She smiles faintly, eyes on my chest. “Good. You needed it.”
“I needed you,” I murmur before I can stop myself.
Her startled gaze lifts to mine, open and curious.
I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, slow and careful. “You don’t have to say anything. Just… let me have this minute. You, here. That look in your eyes.”
She exhales softly. “Take as many minutes as you need.”
So I do.
I keep her tucked against me, her leg tangled over mine, her head resting in the space between my shoulder and heart like she was always meant to be there. My hand finds the curve of her back and rests there, grounding us both.
She takes care of people even when no one took care of her. Should’ve made her hard. Distant. But Angel? She chose soft. Chose good. Her heart’s too damn big for one person, and she’s still handing out pieces of it like it won’t ever run out.
Eventually, we ease apart slowly, careful not to break the quiet we built. Tea for her. Coffee for me. I fix the lopsided star on the upstairs tree, and she gives me a look that says she knows what last night meant.
Angel’s phone buzzes once on the counter. She checks the screen but doesn’t say anything, turning it face down.
“Coffee shop stuff,” she says, a little crease between her eyebrows.
I nod, though something about her expression tugs at me. A liar she is not, a deflector, yes. I leave it alone—for now.
Downstairs in the coffee shop, I watch as Angel moves through her morning routine like she’s done it a thousand times.
She flips on the lights, hums under her breath as the space warms up, and gets the first batch of coffee going—dark roast, judging by the rich smell curling through the air.
She wipes down the counters, checks the pastry case, and starts prepping syrup bottles at the bar with quiet focus.
A few minutes later, the front door opens with a jingle, and Jamie walks in, wrapped in a too-big hoodie and wearing a beanie with a pom-pom that’s seen better days.
“Hey, sunshine,” Angel says with a smile.
Jamie groans. “It’s too early to be cheerful.”
“It’s seven thirty.”
“Exactly.”
Angel laughs and hands her a steaming mug from the side counter. “Try this and tell me you still hate mornings.”
Jamie takes a sip, eyes closing in dramatic appreciation. “Okay, I hate mornings slightly less.” Her eyes slide over to where I’m standing near the counter, nursing the coffee Angel handed me. “Good night?” she asks casually, her smirk anything but innocent.
Angel nearly drops the muffin tray. “What? Yes, I mean, fine. Normal. Completely average night.”
Jamie hums as if she doesn’t believe a word. “Uh-huh. Just saying I wouldn’t mind someone who looks like that making me breakfast too.”
Angel makes a strangled noise and turns back to the register, muttering something about traitors and teenagers.
I sip my coffee and don’t say a word. But I’m grinning into the mug like a man who’s been handed proof that she thought about me last night. Maybe still is. The blush on her cheeks isn’t from the espresso machine heat. It’s from me.
Jamie heads toward the prep area, already rolling up her sleeves. Angel finishes counting the till, eyes flicking up now and then to check the espresso machine warming behind her.
It’s not loud, it’s not rushed—it’s calm, capable hands setting the day in motion. Watching her here, surrounded by the little world she’s built, it’s easy to see why people keep coming back.
Once the morning rush starts, I make myself useful. Fix a sticky hinge. Mend the wobble in the front table leg. Not because I was asked, but because touching the things she uses every day feels like leaving pieces of myself behind in her world so she doesn’t forget I was here.
Mostly I watch her do what she does: hold a dozen conversations without dropping a single thread; remember that Mrs. Crowley’s granddaughter hates nutmeg; tuck a free cookie in a bag for a boy whose eyes are older than they should be.
I shouldn’t want her this much while she’s measuring syrup and frothing milk, but here I am—aching like I’m nineteen again. Watching the way her hips sway as she moves behind the counter. Watching her bite her bottom lip when she’s thinking. I don’t just want to kiss her—I want to consume her.
“I should head back to the ranch,” I say once things calm down. “Having supper with the boys in the bunkhouse. But I’ll swing by after—make sure the place is locked up and your power’s holding with the weather coming in.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” I growl, holding her gaze.
“Okay, Mr. Grumpypants,” she huffs. “Far be it from me to object when you’re being all caveman, beating your chest and grunting ‘me want to.’”
A smile tugs at the edges of my mouth. Fuck, she’s adorable.
I reach out and run the backs of my knuckles down her cheek, slow and deliberate. Her skin is warm, velvet-soft. She leans into it, just slightly, and my pulse thunders. “I’ll see you later.”
Her eyes soften. “Okay.”
I head for the door. The bell jingles as I step out into the cold, and the wind hits my face like a reminder: keep it steady. Keep it smart. But I’m already planning how fast I can get back here before I’ve even left.
* * *
Back at the ranch, there’s a busted fence line behind the barn that Tyler’s been avoiding for a week. I spend the morning hammering in new boards, talking him through post hole repairs while he shrugs and mutters and tries to act like he’s not listening.
But he is. More than he lets on.
He watches how I line up the posts. How I check the tension in the wire. He asks a question once, as if it slipped out by accident, and I answer like it’s nothing. No lectures. Just the facts.
By midday, Tyler is digging without being told, though he still won’t make eye contact.
That’s fine. Progress doesn’t have to be loud.
Some things take time. Like trust. Like breaking down the instinct to run when something feels too good.
Which reminds me of the way Angel touched me last night. How it still echoes in my skin.
Tyler reminds me of myself at that age—closed off, prickly, waiting for someone to give up on him so he can say he saw it coming. Kids like him make me think about it—about paying forward what I was given. About having a reason to stick.
And then there’s Angel.
If a man’s going to stay, it’s for a woman like her. Stubborn, smart, brave as hell. Too used to doing everything alone. Steady where it counts and soft in a way that wrecks me. The kind of woman you don't walk away from unless you're a fool.
Later, I help Christopher haul firewood to the main house, check on the generator, and swap out a few old bulbs in the barn that burned out last week. The weather’s shifting—sky heavy, air cold in a way that means business. I can feel the storm pressing in by late afternoon.
I head to the bunkhouse for supper with the boys, boots caked in half-frozen mud and shoulders tight from the work. It’s a tiredness that feels earned.
But through it all—every nail driven, every job crossed off—I keep thinking about Angel.
I hang back in the doorway of the bunkhouse for a minute, letting the warmth hit my face and the familiar voices settle somewhere deep in my chest. It’s been a long time since I stepped foot in here.
Longer still since I felt like I belonged anywhere.
But the chili smells the same. So does the lemon polish Mary uses on every square inch of this place.
The others don’t notice me at first—Nate comes in with Rudy, his chocolate Labrador, at his heels. Dallas stomps snow off his boots. Cole dishes out bowls of chili like a man on a mission. It’s all achingly familiar. Almost enough to make me wish I hadn’t stayed away so long.
I keep to the edge of the room, letting the banter wash over me.
Nate grins like he’s got a secret, and it doesn’t take long before he admits it’s about Callie.
He’s in deep. Not that I’m surprised. I’ve seen that look before.
It’s the same one I catch in the mirror sometimes, when I let myself think about Angel longer than I should.
Dallas starts in with his story about Ginger—something about a striped candy cane dildo and a mishap at the post office.
The guys rib each other like no time has passed, but I watch more than I speak.
Cole still has that quiet weight about him.
He’s been through hell, same as me, and he doesn’t need words to express it.
Dallas is all noise and heart. Nate is steady and focused.
I sit at the table, letting Cole’s chili warm my belly.
Listen while they talk about the pranks we pulled as kids—the scarecrows we turned into Dolly Parton with jumbo-sized toilet rolls and blonde wigs, and the jingle bells we zip-tied to every cow’s tail at the Miller farm.
The herd sounded like a deranged sleigh ride for a week.
I laugh quietly as we reminisce. Things weren’t all bad—I have a lot of good memories with these guys to counter the bad ones.
When Dallas leans back and talks about plans for his girl, Ginger, the ache returns.
That not-quite-pain that says maybe I have something worth reaching for.
A need I haven’t fed in years. Not just sex.
Her. Her body under mine, her voice in my ear, her hands in my hair.
I didn’t realize how badly I wanted to be wanted until she looked at me like I was something worth keeping.
Later, when Nate stands to leave with Rudy, I follow him out into the snow.
Nate doesn’t say anything, falling into step beside me like he used to when we were kids—no pressure, no expectations, just company when you need it.
We walk in silence for a while, our boots crunching on fresh snow, Rudy bounding ahead. The Christmas lights twinkle on the ranch house, and smoke curls from the chimney.
“You’re quiet,” Nate says finally.
I huff a soft laugh. “I’m always quiet.”
“Quieter than usual. You good?”
“Still deciding.” I glance at him. “You?”
He nods, and his eyes soften. “Yeah, I am. I’ve fallen for Callie.”
I stop walking. “That fast?”
He shrugs. “It’s not fast when it’s right.”
I chew that over, watching my breath fog the air.
“She’s everything,” he says simply. “And Danny… that kid’s changed me. I didn’t know I had this much room in me for someone else.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak right away.
After a minute, I say, “Angel’s got me twisted up.”
Nate doesn’t ask who Angel is. He just waits.
“I… told her some of it,” I confess gruffly.
“She didn’t look away. Didn’t look at me like I was broken.
She’s got this quiet way of seeing things.
And when she looks at me… it’s like she sees a version of me I forgot existed.
” I shove my hands deeper into my coat pockets.
“I don’t know how to do this, Nate. Emotions.
Feelings. Relationships. I don’t know how to sit still and let someone in. ”
The wind shifts, tossing snowflakes around like confetti.
I let out a ragged breath. “She makes the noise stop.”
“Because she means something to you.”
I clear my throat. “She means everything. And that’s what terrifies me.”
He nods as if he understands exactly what I mean. “We came from the same place, Grady. We got handed the same busted compass. But Mary and Christopher taught us how to point it somewhere better. You’re allowed to want more. You’re allowed to stay.”
We fall into silence again, not because there’s nothing left to say, but because some things don’t need to be explained between brothers. Especially not the kind who survived the circumstances they were born into.
Nate breaks the silence first. “You know what helped me most? Figuring out I didn’t have to protect myself from love. Just had to protect the people I love with everything I’ve got.”
We turn back toward the house, slower now.
“You really think we’re allowed to have this?” I ask quietly.
Nate smiles. “I think we’ve earned it, Grady.”
I stop him with a hand on his shoulder. “Hey. I’m glad you found them. Callie and Danny.”
His smile is soft but sure. “Me too. And I know you’ll find your peace, Grady.”
I nod. “I think I already did.”