Chapter 27
THATCHER
I’m still trying to catch up with what just happened.
Feels like the whole damn world spun off its axis, flipped upside down, then slammed back into place.
Only now?
Nothing’s the same.
Everything’s different—in the best possible fucking way.
She’s lying in my bed, wrapped in flushed skin and tangled sheets, blinking up at the ceiling like she doesn’t quite know where she is.
Like she might panic if I move too quick.
Like she might vanish if I say too much, too fast.
So I don’t.
I swallow down the thousand things I want to tell her.
That she’s so beautiful to look at, so damn sweet to taste, so precious to touch—it breaks my heart.
That she wrecked me.
That something in me settled the second she fell apart in my arms.
But I don’t say any of it.
Not tonight.
Baby Girl doesn’t need my feelings right now.
That’s mine to carry.
It’s my job to figure out how to hold her without weighing her down.
I’m a big boy.
I can handle it.
I can handle her.
Now I just have to show her.
“Do you need anything, Baby Girl?” I ask, my voice rough. “Water? Bathroom?”
She hesitates.
“Um… bathroom?”
I nod and rise from the edge of the bed, offering her my hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
She blinks at it, fingers clutching the sheet to her chest like modesty is even possible after what we just did.
I tilt my head, smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.
“You can’t possibly be shy now, can you?”
Her cheeks go pink.
God help me, I love that bubblegum blush.
I huff a soft laugh and bend down to swipe my flannel off the floor.
Then I stand and hold it open for her like a man starved for excuses to touch.
She licks her lips—don’t look at her mouth, don’t look at her mouth—and then she decides, and it’s a wonderful thing to watch.
I’m so fucking proud of her when she moves.
Slides out from under the covers.
Turns her back to me.
And it’s not just the trust in that moment that levels me—it’s the choice.
She lets me wrap her in something of mine.
My shirt.
My scent surrounding her.
I really like the idea of that.
Like it even better in real life.
I slide her arms through the sleeves and button the top few closures, fingertips grazing warm skin as I go.
I don’t rush.
I can’t.
I squeeze her arms gently, then press a kiss to the top of her head.
“There,” I murmur. “Better?”
She nods, eyes flicking up.
“Thank you.”
I can’t help it—I kiss her again.
Slower this time. Softer. No heat behind it, just the quiet kind of reverence that speaks louder than any words I’d fumble.
And the biggest miracle of all?
She kisses me back.
I stand there and watch while she disappears into the bathroom.
And when I see the door close, I jog to the kitchen and grab two bottles of water.
It gives me something to do, something to ground me when the air in the house still smells like her skin and her moans are etched into the fucking walls.
I’m back in the bedroom when she steps out of the bathroom.
And holy hell.
It’s not fair.
The sight of her—bare thighs, thick and gorgeous, her curves wrapped up in my shirt, the swell of her breasts pulling at the buttons like a damn temptation incarnate—I actually forget how to breathe for a second.
She’s radiant.
Real.
Undeniably mine in this moment, and the ache in my chest tells me I want more than that.
More than a night.
More than this flicker of time carved out from a storm.
I want to keep her.
All of her.
But I don’t let myself hope.
Not yet.
I’ve already tanked one engagement and learned the hard way that women don’t always stay.
The ones who came after? They were placeholders.
Forgettable.
Dust compared to this.
But Willow?
Willow feels like more.
And that scares the shit out of me in a way nothing ever has.
Because for the first time in a long goddamn while, I’m not just hungry for her body.
I’m hungry for everything.
And that? That’s a dangerous thing for a man like me to feel.
Especially when I already know—I’ll never want anyone else. Not for the rest of my life.
I just have to figure out how to keep her here. Safe. With me.
But we have time.
Four weeks.