Chapter 30
Greyson
Leaving Clara on that porch last night was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
Harder than walking away from the world.
Harder than releasing my work without my name attached.
Harder than building a life where I told myself I didn’t need anyone.
But she needed space.
And if I’m honest?
So did I.
I spent half the night staring at my ceiling, replaying every word, every look on her face when I questioned her loyalty.
The way she stood there—strong and shaking at the same time.
I almost lost her because I panicked.
Again.
It’s six a.m. when I pull into Kelly’s driveway.
That’s about all the space I can give her.
I’ve got a paper bag from the Lunchroom on the passenger seat—breakfast burritos, blueberry muffins, and coffee in a thermos.
Peace offerings.
But the food isn’t the point.
The point is that I can’t wait another hour.
I don’t use the front door.
Kelly and Evan don’t need to be dragged into whatever this is at sunrise.
So I circle around back to the spare room where Clara’s been sleeping.
The curtains are half drawn.
Through the glass, I see her.
Curled on her side.
One hand tucked beneath her cheek.
Hair spilled across the pillow like dark silk.
Immediately, I think of pirate ships with billowing sails, raging seas, and calm nights—and I can see the scene carved out in wood and leather.
This woman? She’s my muse.
My inspiration.
My everything, If I’m being honest.
My heart stutters so hard it almost hurts.
Life doesn’t come with guarantees.
I know that better than most.
But if there’s one thing I’m suddenly certain of, it’s this—whatever life I build from here on out?
It won’t be one I want without her in it.
Last night was too close.
Seeing that prick ex of hers put his hands on her.
Seeing her look at me like I might not trust her.
No more of that.
I gave her all the time I could, cause now I’m done waiting.
She might not need a man telling her where she belongs.
And I’m not here to cage her.
But I am here to tell her that I choose her—for good this time.
That I belong with her. To her.
And no, it’s not all about possession.
It’s alignment.
It feels a lot like fact.
Surer than science.
Stronger than faith.
I lift the window carefully, easing the screen aside. I make a mental note to add better security—then shake it off, because right now I’m grateful I can slip inside unnoticed.
I set the food on the dresser quietly.
Then I move toward the bed.
I step out of my boots. Peel off my flannel. Drop my jeans without a sound. Take off my socks.
Not for seduction—though God knows I want her—but because I need to feel her skin against mine.
I slide under the covers.
She stirs immediately.
When I wrap my arms around her, she hums softly in her sleep and sinks back against me like she was waiting for it.
Relief floods through me.
Holding her?
It’s everything.
A few minutes later she blinks awake slowly, lashes fluttering, those green-gold eyes focusing on my face.
“Greyson?” she murmurs. “How’d you get in here?”
“The window.”
Her brow furrows faintly. “Why?”
“Because I needed to tell you something,” I say quietly. “And I needed to do it in person.”
She studies me, then glances down.
“Mmm. Did you need to do it half naked?” she teases, lips curving.
Even half-asleep, she steals my breath.
“Yeah, Trouble,” I murmur. “I needed to feel you against my skin when I do this. Fuck, I guess it can wait another minute.”
Then, I kiss her.
Slow at first.
Careful.
And when she kisses me back, no hesitation, no wall between us—I almost come undone.
She tastes like sleep and warmth and something uniquely hers.
Wildflowers. Spring rain.
I deepen the kiss, my hand sliding along her waist, feeling the steady rhythm of her breath.
My body reacts immediately.
But this isn’t about that.
Not yet.
I pull back just enough to look at her.
She’s watching me now, fully awake.
Waiting.
“I love you,” I whisper.
The words hit the air between us like something sacred.
“I am in love with you, Clara Belle.”
Her breath catches.
“Greyson—”
But I don’t let her talk. Not yet.
“I don’t want you to leave,” I continue. “Not because I get to decide where you belong. And not just because I’m scared of losing you—though I am.”
I swallow hard.
“I don’t want you to leave because the fact of the matter is I belong with you. To you. And I choose you. Not the idea of you. Not the version of you that fits on this mountain.”
My hand comes up to cup her cheek.
“Just you,” I say firmly. “All of you. The city slicker. The troublemaker. The writer. The woman who tells me when I’m being an idiot.”
Her eyes shine now.
“I need you,” I admit. “Not because I wanna build a cage for you. I don't wanna trap you. I just wanna be with you. I love you. And I want you to stay.”
I don’t say move in. Not yet.
I don’t say forever. Though it’s implied.
I just lay it there.
Honest.
Unarmored.
And for the first time in my life—I don’t run away.