Chapter 39
Chapter thirty-nine
EVE
"Adam—yes—right there—"
My back presses against the shower wall as Adam moves inside me, the force of his thrusts making the antique clawfoot tub creak beneath us. His hands grip my thighs, lifting me higher as water streams down between our bodies.
"Shh," he murmurs against my neck, his stubble leaving marks I'll feel all day. "These old walls are paper-thin."
The reminder only makes everything more intense: Sally downstairs making breakfast, guests in other rooms, including that reviewer, all of them potentially hearing exactly what Adam is doing to me in this hundred-year-old bathroom.
"Then stop making me want to scream," I whisper, fingers digging into his shoulders as he adjusts his angle, hitting exactly where I need him.
His laugh is low and dark against my skin. "Not a chance, Foster."
Last night I shattered in more ways than one: my grandfather's irreplaceable heart ornament in pieces on the floor, my careful control finally breaking as I sobbed in Adam's arms. But what broke me open wasn't only the loss.
It was how Adam hadn't tried to fix it, hadn't offered empty reassurances.
He simply held me, letting me feel everything without judgment.
And now his hands are everywhere at once. Strong, sure, finding all the places that make my breath catch.
"You feel so good," he breathes, voice strained as he fights to maintain control. "So fucking good, Foster."
The steam surrounds us. I wrap my legs tighter around his waist, drawing him deeper as his rhythm grows more urgent.
"Look at me," Adam commands softly, and when I meet his gaze, the intensity there nearly undoes me. Desire. Need. Want. Love. Tenderness. Humor. Past. Present. Future. And the same steadiness I saw in his eyes last night when he cradled my trembling hands and promised we'd face everything together.
"I'm right here," I whisper, cupping his face as he moves inside me.
Something flashes in his eyes, like he's remembering all those years of screens between us, of distance and silence and missed connections. "Not letting you go again," he promises, punctuating each word with a thrust that steals my breath.
"Good," I manage, losing myself in the rhythm we've created together. "Because I'm not going anywhere."
A floorboard creaks in the hallway and we both freeze, my hand flying to cover my mouth as Adam goes completely still inside me. Footsteps pause outside the bathroom door, then continue down the hall.
"Close call," I whisper.
The corner of his mouth quirks up in that crooked smile that used to make my heart race during our video calls. "Worth it."
He starts moving again, more purposeful now, his thumb finding that sensitive bundle of nerves between my legs. "Come for me," he urges, his voice rough with need. "Want to feel you fall apart."
My body tightens. As he continues, dirtier, spicier, very much him and all book boyfriends combined.
And I'm coming undone, pleasure washing through me in waves as I clench around him. He follows seconds later, burying his face in my neck to muffle his groan as he pulses inside me.
For a moment we breathe together, his forehead pressed against mine, our hearts racing in tandem. I trace my fingers along his jaw, as the tension slowly eases from his muscles.
"Good morning to you too," I finally say, and his smile makes my heart beat faster.
"The best," he agrees, pressing a kiss to my temple. "Though we should probably actually shower before we use all of Sally's hot water."
"Multitasking," I correct, reluctantly unwinding my legs from his waist. "Very efficient."
His eyes darken as he watches me reach for the shampoo. "I've always appreciated your efficiency."
“Efficiency,” I murmur. “Is a better word for cold.” I’m not hurt. I’m redefining.
Adam looks at me, massaging my scalp. “Coldness means you’re more careful with who you show your warmth.
Because trust me, Foster, you’re warm. You’re there for your friends, funny, caring in more ways than one.
You’re gooey on the inside. Sometimes ice cream on the outside.
And it doesn’t make you any less than someone who is sunshine all the time. ”
He washes my hair and I rub his shoulders, touching him. Not able to stop touching him. Not being made awkward because I’m touching him.
"My therapist once asked why I care when people call me cold." I rest my hands in my lap, conscious of keeping them still. "I thought it was Chuck getting under my skin, but it's deeper than that."
The memory of how Chuck's attitude shifted makes me tense.
"Chuck used to tease me about it at first. 'There goes Eve, turning down another invitation.
' Like it was this quirky thing he found endearing.
" I shake my head slightly. "Then after we got married, those jokes became pointed comments.
Questions about why I couldn't 'network properly' or 'play the game.
' As if my selective social circle was holding back his career.
" I pause, working through the realization that still stings.
"After I found him with Jennie, I learned he'd cheated multiple times during our marriage.
One of them was with this wedding planner he met at a conference.
Total social butterfly, knew everyone on the West Coast medical circles.
He told her that I had served him with divorce papers.
Showed them fake ones. And turns out he made her feel like she was 'too much.
' Too loud, too connected, too present."
My voice hardens. "It was never about how I interacted with people. He needed something to criticize, something to make me feel like I wasn't enough exactly as I was. So he could justify looking elsewhere while making it seem like my fault."
Adam wraps his arms around me. “I hate the guy. And I hate what he put you through.”
I lift a shoulder, cozy and toasty and right where I belong.
"There's nothing wrong with being the nurse who knows everyone in the hospital.
Claire's like that. She thrives on connecting with dozens of people.
And there's nothing wrong with being more selective either.
Both can be good approaches." I take a steadying breath.
“I work with dozens of people every day.
I'm good at it: consulting with doctors, coordinating with other nurses, guiding patients through procedures.
Efficient. But at the end of shift, it's always been Claire or a handful of others I actually grab coffee with.
Not the big happy hours with tons of people. "
We rinse each other off and step out of the shower, enveloping each other in pink towels and warm and comfy bathrobes.
I continue, "I was like that even before I got sick at nineteen.
Growing up, I had three close friends, not twenty.
Maybe getting cancer amplified it, but the foundation was always there. "
“Do you miss it?” Adam asks as we watch the snow fall. “The Cape.”
I consider deflecting, but find myself answering honestly. “Sometimes. The way the light hits the water in winter. The walks on the beach. The flowers, there. My family. How the whole town transforms between seasons - not just the landscape but the rhythm, the people.”
As soon as we’re out and dressed, the buzz of connection still lingering under my skin, I keep thinking about that word.
Cold. The way it’s been used against me.
The way I’ve weaponized it for survival.
But today, it’s something else. Strategic.
And right now? That part of me that organizes chaos, sees all the angles before anyone else, knows details about people, clicks back into place like a well-prepped surgical tray.
Because I know Chuck.
And if he thinks I’m going to wait around for his podcast to drop like a slow-rolling bomb, he’s underestimated me again.
There’s got to be a way to stop him before he releases anything.
And I’m going to find it.
An hour later after a delicious breakfast where Sally announced the end of renovation (such an interesting timing), we're walking the dogs through town square, Blanche maintaining a dignified pace while Dorothy darts between snow piles, and LoverBoy chases her, leaving chaotic paw prints.
Adam's hand is warm in mine despite the December chill, his shoulder occasionally bumping against mine in a way that feels deliberate, possessive.
Pine Creek is Christmas-card perfect this morning. Fresh snow dusts the storefronts, holiday lights twinkle despite the daylight, and Sally's done her part to ensure every lamppost has a wreath.
"You're quiet," Adam says, using his free hand to stop Dorothy from eating something suspicious in the snow.
"Good quiet or bad quiet?"
"Different quiet." His thumb traces circles on my palm, sending warmth up my arm. "Like you're calculating something."
I smile, tugging Blanche away from an alarming Christmas gnome display. "I'm thinking that I love you."
"I love you, too."
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Then again. I pause under the town square gazebo, decorated within an inch of its architectural life with lights and garland, to check.
The first message is from Claire:
Claire
Eve! Chuck is on Second Chance app AGAIN. Different name but same profile pic. He's targeting nursing students with that 'I can mentor your career' line he used on you. Someone needs to stop him.
The second makes my blood freeze:
LC Hospital
[LP1]This way if he’s referring to time ??
Tick tock... podcast recording tomorrow. Final chance, Eve.
Adam notices my expression instantly. “What is it?”
I show him both messages, watching his face darken. The muscle in his jaw ticks—a tell I’ve come to recognize, cataloging it clinically alongside “pupils dilating” and “nostrils flaring slightly” in my mental file of Adam Harrison Restraining Himself from Violence.
“That manipulative piece of—”
“Wait.” I cut him off, an idea forming as I stare at Chuck’s text. “What if...”
Adam quiets, head tilting slightly, the same way he listens to frightened animals, with complete attention. Dorothy abandons her snow excavation and press against my leg, like she senses something’s wrong.
“What if I change my profile location to Chicago?” The plan crystallizes as I speak. “Make him think I’m considering moving back, giving in.”
Adam’s eyebrows lift. “You think he’d fall for that?”
“Chuck can never resist gloating when he thinks he’s winning.” I’m already unlocking my phone, updating my profile while Blanche watches with what I swear is approval. “If I make him think I’m wavering...”
“He’ll show his hand,” Adam finishes, a slow smile spreading across his face.
“Exactly.” I look up at the Christmas decorations surrounding us, at the small-town holiday cheer that feels so different from the sterile hospital corridors where Chuck tried to diminish me.
“I need to give him a taste of victory. And Sally mentioned Lady Grey’s future daughter-in-law, Maddie, has a podcast she’d love to have us on.
I’m contacting her and we can see with Mike about the lawyer who could help. ”
“And I’ll chat with Landon about the funding.” Adam’s eyes find me as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch lingering. “You’re brilliant, you know that?”
“Thanks.” And I raise on my toes to give him a soft kiss. Being the Ice Queen doesn’t mean I can’t feel. It means I choose who gets my warmth.
And Chuck? He’s getting nothing but frostbite.
By the time we reach the B&B again, our plan is fully formed. Adam releases the dogs in the room while I settle on the desk and start typing.