33. Aiden
Aiden
Paige is wearing my T-shirt and half of my body when I wake.
Her thigh rests over mine, her cheek is pressed to my chest, and her hair covers my shoulder. I hold still, long enough to feel her breath. After nearly two weeks of waking up alone and knowing exactly why, having her against me feels almost impossible to trust.
Her eyes open. “I can feel you watching me.”
“I’ve had a difficult couple of weeks.”
“Apparently I cured you.”
“I’ll need follow-up treatment.”
“How often?”
“Weekly. Minimum.”
Her sleepy laugh warms my skin before she lifts her head and kisses me. I slide my hand beneath the shirt, my fingers finding the dip of her spine as her mouth gives way to mine. When her thigh shifts higher, my body gives her a very clear opinion about how we should spend the morning.
Her lips brush mine as she speaks. “Coffee.”
“I can make coffee.”
“I remember. It’s one of the reasons I took you back.”
“Good to know the expensive renovation was unnecessary.”
She smiles and climbs out of bed. Apparently breakfast is not optional.
An hour later, Paige stands at my kitchen counter with a full mug in one hand and her purse over her shoulder.
“I’m going to spend a few hours in the library.”
“Okay.”
Her gaze holds mine. “Alone.”
The word lands like a punch, right where the breakup is still raw. My mind immediately counts what a few means and wonders whether she plans to drive back to the cabin afterward.
I keep both hands around my coffee.
“Okay,” I say again.
“You’re allowed to tell me that makes you nervous.”
“It makes me nervous.”
Paige walks over and presses a kiss to my mouth. “I’ll come back when I’ve had enough quiet.”
I want to ask when that will be. Instead, I nod. “Take what you need.”
I watch her cross the short distance between the house and the private library. She unlocks the separate entrance, steps inside, and closes the door.
The lock turns.
She has every key, exactly as I intended. Hearing the bolt slide into place still jolts me.
The old office is close enough to reach in less than a minute. I could knock under the excuse of bringing more coffee, checking the temperature, or pointing out a feature she already saw last night. I have enough practical reasons to make intrusion sound thoughtful.
I stay in the house.
Giving her space only works if I leave her alone when she asks.
Sitting on the porch outside her window would turn the lock into decoration, and knocking every hour would make her responsible for reassuring me.
I give her the quiet she asked for, even while every instinct wants proof that we are still all right.
For the next three hours, I answer emails, review a feed order, and take two calls at the kitchen table. I check the clock often enough to annoy myself, but I never cross the yard.
Near noon, I make lunch for both of us and cover Paige’s plate. Then I sit down with an invoice instead of delivering it to her door.
At twelve seventeen, the lock clicks.
Paige steps onto the private porch with her empty mug. Her hair is pulled into a loose knot, and the tension around her eyes is gone.
When she spots me through the open kitchen window, she smiles.
A minute later, she walks into the house, sets her mug in the sink, and wraps both arms around my waist.
A breath I’ve held all morning finally leaves me. I pull her close and kiss the top of her head.
“Feel better?” I ask.
“Much.” She leans back enough to look at me. “Thank you for leaving me alone.”
“I wanted to knock.”
“I assumed you would.”
“That doesn’t sound flattering.”
“It is when you choose not to.”
I brush a loose strand of hair from her cheek. “There’s lunch.”
“Acts of service without forced proximity. You really are committed to this personal-growth experiment.”
“Don’t get too impressed. I checked the clock twenty-three times.”
“Only twenty-three?”
“I showed restraint.”
She smiles, rises onto her toes, and kisses me slowly. The words are a soft breath against my mouth. “I missed you.”
She closed the door, took what she needed, and came back because she wanted me. I can learn to trust that choice.
“I missed you too.”
Her fingers curl into my shirt as I hold her against me.
“I like watching you come back more than preventing you from leaving.”
Josie gets three steps into the kitchen before she sees Paige sitting beside me at the table.
She lets go of her overnight bag, the strap sliding from her shoulder.
“You’re here!”
She runs across the room and launches herself at Paige. Paige barely has time to turn before Josie wraps both arms around her waist.
“You came back.”
“I did.” Paige hugs her tightly. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too. Friday was wrong.”
Paige’s eyes find mine over Josie’s head. “It was.”
I retrieve the abandoned bag and set it beside the stairs. When I return, Josie has climbed onto Paige’s lap, her arms tight around Paige’s neck as if she never plans to let go.
I catch Paige’s eye before looking back at Josie. “We need to tell you something.”
Josie looks between us. “Is it bad?”
“No.” I take the chair beside them. “Remember when I told you Paige and I had a disagreement?”
“You said the adults were working through it, but you weren’t working together because she wasn’t here.”
She’s not wrong, and it lands like a stone.
“I made a decision that hurt Paige,” I tell her. “I apologized, and we talked about how to do better.”
“Did she forgive you?”
Paige bites back a smile and fails.
“She did.”
Paige looks at Josie, her expression serious. “Because he understood what he did wrong. That part was important.”
Josie nods with the seriousness of someone recording a rule she may use against me later. “So you’re boyfriend and girlfriend again?”
“Yes,” I say.
Paige smooths Josie’s hair back from her face. “And partners.”
Josie’s face brightens. Then her eyes move to the stairs.
“Are you moving in now?”
The question hits the same place it did at the cookout, but this time I wait for Paige’s answer.
“No,” she says. “I still live at my cabin.”
Josie frowns. “But you’re together.”
“We are.” Paige smooths a strand of hair away from Josie’s cheek. “People can love each other and live in different houses.”
“Will you move here later?”
“Maybe. Your dad and I will keep talking about what we both want. If I move in someday, we’ll tell you after we decide together.”
Josie looks at me for confirmation.
I meet Josie’s gaze directly. “Paige doesn’t have to live here for us to be committed. Her cabin is important to her, and I support her keeping it.”
“For how long?”
“As long as she wants.”
That answer once would have felt like an open door I had to watch. Now it’s one of the terms Paige trusted me enough to give.
Josie studies us, working through the information. “Are you still coming on Fridays?”
Paige’s arms tighten around her. “Every Friday.”
“For reading night?”
“Especially reading night.”
“And breakfast?”
“If your father improves his pancake technique.”
“My pancakes are fine.”
Josie shakes her head. “The last one looked like Texas.”
“That was intentional.”
“You said it was a horse.”
“Texas contains horses.”
Paige laughs, and Josie settles more comfortably against her.
“What if you have another disagreement?” she asks.
“Then we talk about it,” I say. “We keep adult problems between the adults, and we tell you anything you need to know.”
“You can ask us questions too,” Paige says. “Even if the answer is that we’re still figuring it out.”
Josie accepts that with a small nod. She doesn’t need promises about marriage or moving boxes. She needs to know what Friday looks like and which adults will show up.
“I have something to show you,” Paige says. “Your dad finished the old ranch office.”
“The one with all the dust?”
“It has significantly less dust now. It’s my private library.”
Josie’s mouth falls open. “You have a whole library?”
“I do.”
“Can I see it?”
“Yes, but you have to knock before you come inside.”
“Can I have my own shelf?”
The nearest bookcase has a low shelf Josie can reach. I once planned an entire run beneath the window for her before I understood that the room was never mine to give away.
I keep quiet.
Paige considers the request. “You may have one shelf for books you want to read with me.”
“Two.”
“One.”
“What about Sprinkle’s books?”
“She can share yours.”
Josie looks toward the stuffed horse sticking out of her overnight bag. “She has a lot.”
“Then the two of you will need to make careful selections.”
“Can we use glitter bookends?”
“Only if the glitter is permanently attached.”
Josie sticks out her hand. “One shelf, and we knock.”
“And if the door is locked, you wait until I open it.”
“Okay.” Josie shakes Paige’s hand. “Sprinkle gets half.”
“That part is between you and Sprinkle.”
Josie slides from her lap and races upstairs to choose the first books for their shelf.
Paige watches her go, then looks at me. “One shelf.”
“I heard you.”
Her hand finds mine beneath the table.
“I know.”
By the following Friday, the library no longer smells like paint.
It smells like coffee, old paper, and Paige’s shampoo from the blanket she left folded on the window seat.
She pulls into the drive with a wooden crate in the back of her car. Axel, Sadie, Adrienne, and Scotty are waiting on the porch with me.
“Did you organize a ribbon cutting?” she asks.
“Adrienne wanted scissors,” Axel says.
“I wanted champagne,” Adrienne says.
“Scotty said power tools and alcohol shouldn’t mix.”
Scotty shrugs. “I’ve met this family.”
Paige opens the back door and reaches for the crate. I step toward her, then stop.
“Want help?”
Her eyes flick to mine before a small smile touches her mouth. “You can take the heavy end.”
“Is there a light end?”
“No, but asking earned you the illusion of one.”
I take my side, and we carry the crate toward the separate entrance. It’s packed tightly enough that Paige has to adjust her grip twice.
“What did you bring?” I ask.
“Books.”
“I understood that much.”
“Selected books.”
It’s a deliberate choice, bringing just this crate, not starting the process of emptying her cabin.
Inside, everyone goes quiet.
Axel and Adrienne helped build the shelves. Scotty repaired the old fireplace surround. Deven brought the soft gray throw, and Sadie chose the oversized mug sitting on Paige’s desk. They’ve all seen pieces of the room, but seeing it finished brings a sudden quiet.
Paige sets her end of the crate down and turns toward them.
“I know Aiden designed it, but all of you helped make it real.” She runs her hand over the smooth edge of the nearest shelf. “Thank you.”
Adrienne grins. “You’re welcome. Although you should know he called me before seven on a Sunday.”
“It was seven,” I say.
“It was six fifty-three.”
“Seven.”
“Your growth has limits,” Paige tells me.
“I never claimed otherwise.”
Axel drops into the reading chair and stretches his legs toward the fireplace. “I may borrow this room during the next family dinner.”
“You, quiet for eight minutes?” Sadie asks.
“Ten if I brought snacks.”
Adrienne leans against the desk. “We could start a reservation calendar.”
“No.”
The answer comes easily. Every gaze in the room turns to me.
“This entrance belongs to Paige. If she invites you, use it. Otherwise, the room is private.”
Axel raises both hands. “Understood.”
“Requests may be submitted in writing,” Paige says. “Current processing time is six to eight business years.”
“I respect an efficient system.”
“You’ve never respected an efficient system,” Adrienne says.
“That is slander.”
The talk shifts to Sadie’s new espresso machine, warm and uncomplicated. My family heard the boundary and respected it. It doesn’t have to be a confrontation.
When they leave, Paige locks the door behind them and walks over to the crate.
“Do you want help shelving these?” I ask.
“I do.”
“Alphabetical?”
She stares at me.
“Stupid question.”
“Deeply.”
We work together; Paige chooses where each book goes, and I hand them to her. She keeps the single romance she placed here after our first night back centered on the middle shelf. The new books spread around it, leaving most of the shelves empty.
Josie’s low shelf stays empty too, waiting for the books she and Sprinkle choose for it.
When the crate is nearly finished, Paige reaches into her pocket.
“I have something for you.”
She holds out a silver key.
I look from it to her. “What’s this for?”
“It looks like a key, Aiden.”
“I recognize the object.”
“I had a copy made.”
She’s had every original key since I handed them over. I intended to keep it that way unless she decided differently.
I leave the new one in her palm. “What do you want it to mean?”
Her expression softens.
“Emergency access. Coffee deliveries when the door is open. Entry when I invite you.”
“And if it’s locked?”
“You knock and wait.”
“I can do that.”
“I know.” She steps closer. “You already did.”
Only then do I take the key.
Paige watches me slide it onto my key ring beside my house key.
“You’re sure?” I ask.
“Yes. I want you to have access because I trust you to understand that it isn’t ownership.”
“It’s an invitation.”
“Exactly.”
I curl my hand around the back of her neck and press my mouth to hers. She leans into me, warm and certain, her hand coming up to my jaw before she pulls away.
“Help me with the last three books, boyfriend.”
“Yes, librarian.”
She smiles and returns to the shelf.
The key rests against my palm as I reach into the crate. Paige gave it to me because she chose to, and I can accept it without pretending it opens every door whenever I want.
Access means more when neither of us assumes it.