Chapter 6 Beau
SIX
BEAU
June’s porch light is still burning behind us when I guide Mila down the steps and into the night like I’m trying to outrun my grandmother’s cackling satisfaction.
The cold snaps at my lungs. The snow squeaks under our boots. Timber Creek is quiet in that late-evening way—soft, muffled, like the world is giving us privacy on purpose.
Mila’s hand is in mine.
Small. Warm. Trusting.
And I’m not used to any of those things.
She glances up at me as we cross the driveway, cheeks still flushed from the porch, eyes bright like she’s trying to act normal while her body is still humming.
I can feel it in mine too.
That kiss didn’t just light a spark. It lit the whole damn cabin.
“You’re quiet,” she says.
I open her passenger door and wait until she’s seated before I answer. “If I start talking, I might say something I can’t take back.”
Her lips part—surprised—and then her smile turns slow. “Like what?”
I shut the door gently and walk around to my side of the truck like my legs aren’t made of tension.
When I climb in, the cab is instantly warmer than it should be. It’s not the heater. It’s her. It’s the way she looks at me like she’s not scared of my edges.
I start the engine and pull out.
The road out of June’s place winds through pines heavy with snow, the headlights carving tunnels through white. Mila’s quiet now too, watching the trees slide past, fingers twisting in her lap like she’s trying to contain whatever is growing inside her.
I reach over and take her hand again, lacing our fingers together.
She inhales sharply.
Not because she doesn’t want it.
Because she does.
“You okay?” I ask, even though my voice comes out rough.
Mila turns her head toward me. “I feel like I’m… walking around inside a storm.”
The honesty hits me in the chest.
I tighten my grip on her hand, thumb stroking once over her knuckles. “You’re safe.”
Her eyes soften. “You always say things like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you mean them.”
I glance at her, and the look on her face—open, nervous, wanting—makes something in me go fierce.
“I do mean them,” I say.
Mila swallows. “Beau…”
My name on her mouth is a problem. It makes me want things I’ve spent years starving out of myself.
I pull into the Bluebird cabin clearing and kill the engine. For a second, neither of us moves.
The cabin glows in the dark—warm windows, a thin ribbon of smoke from the chimney. Safe. Quiet.
Mila’s breathing is shallow. Mine is worse.
I turn slightly in my seat. “Before we go inside…”
Her lashes flutter. “Okay.”
“I’m not going to push you,” I say, voice low. “I’m not going to take anything you don’t want to give.”
Mila’s gaze holds mine, steady despite the tremble in her fingers. “I know.”
“And if you tell me to stop,” I add, jaw tightening, “I stop.”
She nods once. “Beau.”
“What.”
Her mouth curves—soft, brave. “I don’t want you to stop.”
Heat rockets through me, so sharp it feels like pain.
I don’t answer with words.
I get out, move around the truck, and open her door. She steps down into the snow, and the second she’s on her feet I pull her close—one hand firm at her waist, the other braced on the truck beside her, boxing her in without trapping her.
Mila’s eyes go wide. Her breath catches.
“Beau,” she whispers again, like she can’t decide if she’s warning me or inviting me.
I lean in until my mouth is a whisper from hers. “You wore that dress to dinner on purpose.”
Her cheeks blaze. “Your grandmother told me to.”
“My grandmother is not the reason you’re looking at me like that,” I murmur.
Mila’s throat works. “Maybe I’m just… cold.”
I smile, dark and humorless, because we both know that’s a lie.
I kiss her.
Slow at first—because I’m trying to hold back, trying to give her room to change her mind.
But Mila’s hands slide up my jacket, gripping, pulling me closer like she’s done pretending.
That snaps something inside me.
I deepen the kiss, my mouth moving over hers like I’ve been starving. She makes a soft sound that goes straight down my spine, and I swear the world tilts.
My hand tightens at her waist, feeling the curve of her through the fabric, and it’s like my body recognizes her shape as something it’s been missing.
Mila’s fingers slip up to my neck, pushing under the edge of my beanie, nails scraping lightly against my skin.
I groan against her mouth—low, rough, involuntary.
Her eyes flutter at the sound, like she feels it.
“Inside,” I breathe, forehead resting briefly against hers as I fight for control. “Before I lose my mind out here.”
Mila nods, dazed. “Okay.”
I take her hand and practically haul us to the cabin door, keeping my pace measured so I don’t look as wrecked as I feel. She fumbles with the key once, twice.
I cover her hands with mine, steadying them, guiding the key in like it’s the most intimate thing in the world.
Mila exhales a shaky laugh. “I can do it.”
“I know,” I murmur against her hair. “Let me.”
The lock clicks.
The moment we step inside and the door shuts behind us, the quiet hits—thick and private. The firelight flickers across the room, throwing soft gold on Mila’s skin.
I don’t give myself time to think.
I turn her, back gently against the door, and kiss her again—hungrier now that we’re alone. Mila’s arms slide around my neck, pulling me down, and I feel the exact second she decides she’s done being careful.
Her body presses into mine, soft and perfect, and my restraint strains hard.
My hands move to her waist, then lower—splaying across her hips, holding her like I’m trying to anchor myself to something real.
“Mila,” I rasp, breaking the kiss only to breathe her name against her mouth.
“Beau,” she whispers back, and it sounds like a plea.
I drag my lips along her jaw, tasting her skin, feeling her shiver. My mouth finds the pulse in her neck and I kiss there—slow, possessive—then pause when her breath stutters.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” I murmur.
“It’s not,” she breathes, fingers tightening in my hair. “It’s… not enough.”
Jesus.
The words hit me like permission.
I lift my head, eyes locked on hers. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
Mila’s gaze is wide, heated. “Then show me.”
The fire pops in the background like it’s cheering us on.
I slide my hand up her side, under the edge of her coat, palm warm against her back. Mila arches into the touch, a quiet sound leaving her that makes my control go razor-thin.
“You’re…” I swallow hard, searching for words that aren’t too much and finding only the truth. “You’re beautiful.”
Mila’s breath catches like she’s not used to hearing it said like that—like it’s a fact, not a compliment.
Her voice comes out small. “You’re just saying that.”
I still, lifting her chin gently so she can’t look away. “No.”
My thumb strokes her lower lip once, barely touching. “I’m saying it because I can’t stop thinking it. I’m saying it because I want you to hear it until you believe it.”
Mila’s eyes shine. “Beau…”
I kiss her again—slow, aching, like I’m trying to pour every unsaid thing into the way my mouth moves over hers. Her hands roam my shoulders, my chest, then slide under my jacket like she’s learning the shape of me too.
It’s been years since anyone touched me like they weren’t afraid I’d break.
I tug her coat off carefully and toss it over the back of a chair. Then my hands return to her—always back to her—cupping her waist, tracing the curve of her ribs through the sweater dress.
Mila’s eyes flutter closed as my fingers skim her, and the sight of it—her trusting me, giving me this—nearly drops me to my knees.
I pull back just enough to look at her. “You’re sure.”
Mila nods, breathless. “I’m sure.”
I kiss the corner of her mouth, then her cheek, then her forehead—softer now, reverent. “You’re not a mistake,” I murmur. “You’re not a distraction. You’re… mine to take care of if you’ll let me.”
Her lips part, heat flushing up her throat. “Possessive,” she whispers, like she’s half-teasing.
My gaze darkens. “Honest.”
Mila swallows. “I like honest.”
I guide her backward, slow, toward the couch—never breaking contact, never letting her feel like I’m moving too fast. We sink onto the cushions, Mila’s legs tucked beneath her for a second before she shifts closer, knees brushing mine.
The simple touch makes us both inhale like it’s too much.
My hands slide to her thighs, squeezing gently—grounding myself, grounding her. Mila’s fingers curl into my shirt, tugging me down.
We kiss again—long, deep, unhurried.
The kind of kiss that changes things.
I trail my mouth down her neck, feeling her pulse hammering. Mila tilts her head back, giving me access like an offering.
“Beau,” she breathes, and I swear my name has never sounded like that.
“I’ve been trying not to want you,” I confess against her skin, voice rough. “Since the first night.”
Mila’s hands slide over my shoulders, pulling me closer. “Why?”
Because wanting means vulnerability. Because loving something means it can be taken.
I don’t say any of that.
I lift my head, meeting her eyes. “Because I didn’t think I deserved it.”
Mila’s expression softens, something fierce and gentle all at once. She cups my jaw, thumb stroking my beard like she’s not afraid of the man underneath.
“You do,” she says simply. “You do, Beau.”
The words land like a wound and a balm.
My chest tightens. I kiss her again, slower—like I’m trying to absorb it, like I’m trying to believe.
Mila shifts, straddling closer, and the friction of her body against mine makes my control snap tight again. I grip her hips, holding her still for a second.
She blinks down at me, breath shaking. “Too much?”
“Not even close,” I grit out.
Then, softer, like a warning and a promise: “If you keep moving like that, I’m not going to be polite.”
Mila’s cheeks flush, but her eyes go darker with it. “Maybe I don’t want polite.”
A sound drags out of my chest—half laugh, half groan.
I lift her carefully, like she weighs nothing, and stand. Mila clings to my shoulders instinctively, eyes wide.
“Beau—”
“I’m taking you to bed,” I say, voice low. “And I’m going to spend the rest of the night proving you’re safe with me.”
Mila’s breath catches. “That sounds…”
“Good?” I prompt.
Her lips part. “Dangerously good.”
I carry her down the short hall to the bedroom, the room warm and dim, lit by spillover firelight. I set her down gently at the edge of the bed and kneel, hands sliding to her calves, thumbs pressing softly like I’m memorizing her.
Mila shivers. “You’re looking at me like—”
“Like I want you,” I say, plain. “Like I’ve wanted you since you said my name.”
Her throat works. “Beau.”
I stand, closing the distance again, palms braced on either side of her on the bed. “Last chance to tell me to stop.”
Mila reaches up, fists curling in my shirt, and pulls me down into another kiss—answering with her mouth, her body, her choice.
That’s all I need.
I kiss her until the rest of the world falls away—until the only thing that exists is warmth and want and the way she fits against me like she was made to.
And when her fingers slide to my jaw and she whispers, shaky and sure, “I want you,”
I press my forehead to hers and murmur the only honest thing left in me.
“Then you have me.”
The fire crackles.
The snow falls.
And I finally stop running.