21. Chapter 21 #3
He’d insisted on cooking. She’d insisted on helping.
The result? A battle of control in his too-nice kitchen, her fighting him for a turn with the knife, him sighing dramatically and handing her a wooden spoon instead.
At one point, Heath wiped his hands on a dish towel and said, “Jesus, Doc, you ever even been inside a kitchen before?” to which she lobbed a lemon at his chest.
Maddie tried even harder not to fall in love with him when he poured her a third glass of wine—something dark and smoky, something good, though she’d lost track of what bottle it was.
But the battle became impossible when they ended up on the couch afterward, teasing and laughing, her curled into his side, legs tangled lazily with his, his palm dragging slow circles over her shoulder. He smelled like soap and smoke, like steak seasoning and something deeper—something warm.
“You still want to stay?” he said, voice thick and slow.
She hummed, nuzzling deeper against him. “Yes, please.”
And damn it, she meant it.
He pressed a kiss against her temple. Maddie felt herself drifting, a slow pull, exhaustion creeping in, her body too tired to fight the pull of sleep.
She barely noticed when he slid the wine glass from her fingers, or when his fingers brushed lazily through her hair.
If Maddie were to be completely honest with herself, she wasn’t sure when she lost the battle entirely.
Maybe it was back in the kitchen. Maybe it was when he kissed her temple.
Maybe it was weeks ago, when he showed up at her house in that black baseball cap and refused to let her fall apart alone.
Maybe it was the moment she felt strong arms shift beneath her, lifting her effortlessly off the couch, cradling her against a broad chest that smelled like salt air and cedarwood.
She cracked her eyes open, barely, the world a hazy blur of soft moonlight and darkened hallways.
“Let’s get you to bed,” Heath murmured, voice rough with something quiet, something indulgent. “Before you turn into a pumpkin.”
She sighed against him, nestling closer. “It’s the carriage that turns into a pumpkin, not the girl.”
He carried her up the stairs with ridiculous ease, his breath steady, his heartbeat strong beneath her palm where she pressed it against his chest. She had never been carried to bed before. Not like this. Not with this kind of care, as if she weighed nothing. As if she was something worth holding.
“Feet like those,” Heath mused, kicking the bedroom door open, “you wouldn’t be Cinderella anyway.”
Maddie barely lifted her head. “Excuse me?”
He smirked. “Just saying. Glass slipper? That’s a big ask.”
Her lips parted in outrage. “Are you calling me Sasquatch?”
“Not in so many words.” He set her down, tucking her under the covers with the kind of easy familiarity that made her chest ache.
She pushed her yoga pants down, kicking them off the bed. “That’s slander.”
“Not slander if it’s true.” He reached down, wrapping a hand around her ankle, giving it an appreciative squeeze. “Good foundation. Very sturdy.”
“I hate you.”
“You love me.”
That shut her up.
Her breath caught in her throat. Heath stilled, his teasing smirk lingering, but something deeper flashed in his gaze. A heat that neither of them acknowledged.
Before she could respond, before she could even process, he leaned down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her forehead. Then another—her temple, her cheekbone. A press of his lips against her skin, unrushed, careful. Like he wasn’t just tucking her in, but memorizing her.
“You’re here,” he murmured, his fingertips tracing a slow path down her arm. “In my bed.” His lips grazed her jaw. “How did I get so lucky?”
Maddie barely registered the words, too lost in the gentle way he said them.
She rolled onto her side, watching as he straightened, rubbing a hand over the scruff along his jaw.
He hesitated for half a second—like he wanted to say something else—then exhaled through his nose and disappeared into the bathroom.
She let her eyes drift shut, letting herself sink into the space he had created around her. The bed smelled like him. The salt breeze curled through the slightly open balcony doors, the hush of waves rolling in from the shore. The house was so quiet. So steady.
Somewhere in the background, she heard the rush of water. The murmur of Heath moving through the space, brushing his teeth, scrubbing a hand through his hair. Winding down.
She barely noticed the mattress dip behind her until warmth curled around her back.
A solid, unyielding body settled in behind hers.
She exhaled as Heath pulled her in, his arm sliding under the pillow, the other wrapping firm around her waist. His skin was warm, his breath steady against the nape of her neck, the rough scrape of his stubble a whisper of sensation against her shoulder.
His palm smoothed over her stomach, wide and grounding. Holding her there. Keeping her close.
Maddie sighed, completely undone, completely at peace.
And just before she drifted, she felt him press one last kiss to the curve of her shoulder.
Like a promise.