Chapter 20
TWENTY
GAVIN
She looked up at my outstretched hand with pure trust in her eyes. For a long second, after she placed her hand in mine and stood, I didn’t move. I just stood there on the deck and admired her—bare legs, wine-warmed cheeks, wearing my shirt and my goddamn boxers like she’d always belonged in them.
I wanted to touch her again. Wanted to fall into her mouth, press her against the cushions right here outside, feel her melt under me like she had earlier in the kitchen.
But I wouldn’t. Not tonight.
I promised to take care of her when I found her crying on that soaked bookstore floor, and I meant it.
Taking care of her didn’t mean giving in to every flash of heat that licked up my spine the second she touched me.
It meant holding firm to right and wrong when she couldn’t.
With the way the wine had hit my little bookworm, I would make sure tonight was about relaxing and nothing more.
Even when all I wanted was to fall apart with her.
“Come on,” I said, squeezing her hand. “It’s getting late. There is one more stop on tonight’s let-me-take-care-of-you tour.”
She followed without a word, steps soft on the hardwood as I led her back through the quiet house and into my bathroom.
I flicked on the soft overhead light and crossed to the tub—a wide, deep soaking model I often used and appreciated after long days bending over in crawl spaces, crawling under cabinets, and working my body to its limits.
I turned on the tap and let the hot water run while I reached for the jar of muscle soak tucked behind a stack of towels. The label said it was meant to relax the body—sore backs and tight shoulders—but it also said it was good for stress. Rose could use that.
“You’re not gonna do anything tonight,” I said as I poured in a generous scoop. “Nothing but relax and let me pamper you.”
Her eyes followed me, soft and curious. “That so?”
I nodded once, firm. “Yeah. That’s exactly so.”
Steam was already curling up from the rising water, filling the room with lavender and something minty. I turned back to her, and she looked so small in the doorway. So tired, a little wine-softened, but still here with me.
I reached for the hem of my shirt draped on her frame. She lifted her arms without hesitation.
“Let me take care of you, Rose.”
I peeled the shirt from her body slowly. Her skin was flushed from the wine and the heat of the room, and I didn’t rush a single second. I let my fingers ghost down her sides, then dropped to my knees in front of her, palms resting on the curve of her hips.
The boxers had already started to slide down.
I helped ease them the rest of the way, pressing soft kisses along her lower stomach, her hipbones, the skin just above the place I was dying to taste.
She sucked in a quiet breath, and her fingers threaded through my hair for the briefest moment before I stilled.
Looking up at her, I had a thought.
“One second,” I promised, pushing up to my feet.
I left her standing there and jogged to the spare bathroom down the hall—the guest one and the one Teagan had used before officially moving out to the guest house.
I rummaged through the vanity drawers, ignoring the guilt twisting in my chest. I hadn’t come in here since the last time she crashed with me during a fight with whoever she was dating at the time.
But eventually, I found what I needed—a black hair elastic and a wide clip tucked in the back corner of one of the drawers.
When I came back, Rose was testing the water with her fingertips, and I swear she smiled like I’d brought her a bouquet of flowers instead of a used hair tie from God only knows when.
“Turn around,” I said softly.
She did. I gathered her hair gently, twisting it and securing it with the tie before clipping it up and out of the way. A few loose strands curled near her ear, and I tucked one behind it.
“There,” I said. “Can’t have you cursing me for putting you to bed with wet hair. Hop in.”
She laughed under her breath and stepped into the tub with a quiet sigh, sinking down until the water kissed her collarbones.
Her eyes fluttered closed.
I stood there watching her for a second too long.
“Gavin,” she said without opening her eyes, “will you get in with me?”
That warmth I’d been holding in flared again. Not just lust, but something softer, deeper.
I stripped down without a word, tossing my clothes into the hamper before stepping in behind her.
The water was hot but not scalding. The salts eased into my skin like a slow exhale.
I pulled her gently between my legs, letting her settle against my chest. My arms circled around her middle and drew her in.
Just like that, the whole world seemed quieter.
She leaned her head back against my shoulder, fingers trailing along my forearm. After a long silence, her voice floated up through the steam.
“Do you … want more kids?”
I didn’t answer right away. My throat tightened.
Not because I hadn’t thought about it, but because I had.
Too many times. So I got a vasectomy. Quietly.
Alone. A couple years after Vanessa died.
Over the years, I told myself it was the smart decision.
Logical. Responsible. Teagan didn’t need a sibling, planned or unplanned.
I didn’t need the risk of loving and losing again.
Now, with Rose in my arms and the water swirling around us, the question felt extremely raw and loaded. Not painful. Just … fragile. She was so young. The last thing I wanted was to take something away from her.
“I can’t,” I said finally, voice low. “Not anymore. I had a procedure a long time ago. It’s … it could be reversed, maybe. But I didn’t think I’d ever be in a place where that mattered again.”
Rose was quiet for a moment before speaking. “I’ve never wanted kids.” She said it simply, like a fact. Not an apology.
I looked down at her. Her eyes were closed again, lips parted slightly, her hands folded over mine in the water.
“I mean, I’ve always felt broken for it,” she added softly. “Everyone I told kept saying, ‘Oh, you’ll change your mind someday.’ But I never did. Not once.”
My heart thudded hard in my chest, slow and certain.
“You’re not broken, Rose.”
She nodded slowly. “Neither are you.”
I kissed the top of her head and let my hand run gently down her stomach, palm flat and warm beneath the water. She covered it with hers, lacing our fingers.
And in that moment, with her spine pressed against my chest, I realized something I hadn’t let myself believe before.
This could work.