Chapter 21
It’s been a week of hard grind—back-to-back calls, sleepless nights, and hours brutal enough to make you forget what day it is.
That also means a week without Harlow. Seven days since I’ve had her in my arms, heard her laugh, and kissed that smart mouth of hers. Tonight, I plan to make up for every damn second of it.
The small box in my pocket presses against me, anticipation riding hard.
I spotted it in a gift shop while we were on a call in the next county, tucked between cheap souvenirs like it had been waiting for me.
The guys gave me hell the whole drive back, but I didn’t care.
Some things are worth the hit to my pride, and the look on Harlow’s face when she sees this will be one of them.
By the time I pull up to her condo, a storm is rolling in, steel-blue clouds dragging across the mountain peaks like dark waves.
They press low as I cut the engine and climb out, shadows trailing me up the walkway. Just as I reach the front steps, a sound slices through the quiet. A sharp, relentless beeping blaring through the house.
Fire alarm.
Dread slams into me, heavy and hard.
Bolting up the stairs, I shoulder through the door, nearly ripping it off the hinges. Smoke hits the second I cross the threshold—thick and acrid.
“Harlow!” The shout tears from me, boots pounding across the hardwood as I barrel through the living room.
“In here!” She coughs, voice raw.
Two strides and I’m in the kitchen, only to stop cold, chaos punching through me.
Pots scatter the counters, the sink’s a charred wreck, and in the middle of it all stands Harlow—barefoot in cutoffs and my hoodie, broom raised like a weapon as she hacks beneath the blaring alarm.
“Come on, you bastard. Break already.”
I move fast, ripping the alarm from its bracket and tearing the battery free. The shriek cuts off, leaving only the ragged sound of her coughs.
Cursing, I cross the room and wrench the windows open.
Cool mountain air floods in, dragging the smoke out until only a thin haze clings to the corners.
Harlow waves at it, still sputtering. I catch her shoulders, checking her over.
“Jesus, are you okay?” The question comes out rough, my chest still hammering. “What the hell happened?”
Her eyes flash, frazzled and furious. “What happened?” she shrieks, slashing a hand toward the wreckage.
“I’ll tell you what happened. I wanted to cook you a nice dinner.
Pot roast. Because your mom told me it’s your favorite.
She even gave me the recipe. I grocery shopped and prepped all damn day, only to fuck the entire thing up! ”
She storms out of the kitchen, yanking off my sweatshirt as she goes, the one I never get enough seeing her in.
“First, the meat wouldn’t brown,” she says, her voice spilling out down the hall. “Then the carrots turned to mush. Then I dropped the potatoes all over the floor trying to mash them.”
I trail behind her, doing my damnedest not to notice how see-through the tank top is clinging to her back as words pour out of her like a runaway train.
“It took me forever to clean that mess up, and I thought, screw it—we’ll just have pasta,” she rattles on, tossing the sweatshirt into the hamper.
“But then Penny called to go over baby shower plans for Ellie and Gunnar—which, by the way, is on the eighteenth and you’re invited—so now I’m knee-deep in balloons and diaper games when I hear this loud pop. ”
She throws her hands wide, emphasizing those words.
“Next thing I know, the fire alarm’s screaming, smoke is choking me out, and the pot roast?
Oh, it’s not just burned. It’s fully engulfed.
Huge flames, Linc! Like the gates of hell opened in my oven and tried to drag me down with it.
All because you had to love pot roast instead of something simple like spaghetti! ”
By the time she finishes, her chest is heaving, cheeks flushed, and hair wild.
She’s a fucking disaster, and god help me, the sexiest one I’ve ever seen.
I drag a hand over my jaw, the rasp filling the sudden quiet. “So, I’m guessing pot roast won’t be on the menu again anytime soon.”
The joke is meant to coax a smile, maybe even a laugh. Instead, she shakes her head, defeated. “This is what I get for trying to do something I’m not capable of.”
That crack in her voice hits harder than the smoke-filled kitchen.
Pushing off the wall, I cross to the bed and sink onto the edge. “Come here, Goldilocks.”
She lets me draw her in, her arms still folded tight across her chest like armor.
My thumbs trace slow circles against her thigh. “Listen, I appreciate what you were trying to do, but you don’t need to pull off some five-star dinner for me. I don’t give a damn what’s on the table. Sandwich, spaghetti, burned toast. I’ll eat anything, as long as it’s with you.”
Her expression shifts, the hard lines softening. “I know. I just wanted to do something nice after the long week you had, but I should’ve known better. I’m not Suzy Homemaker. Never have been, never will be.”
She acts like it’s a flaw, as if not fitting into some cookie-cutter role means she’s failed.
“Fuck Suzy Homemaker.” The words fire out, hard and certain. “That bitch is overrated. I’ll take Sassy-Spaghetti Harlow any day.”
That earns me a laugh, fragile, but real, the sound landing bone deep.
She tips her head back on a sigh, glaring at the ceiling like it personally betrayed her. “All this trouble over a stupid pot roast.”
My mouth curves, slow and deliberate as I tug her closer. “Would it help if I told you I brought a present?”
Her chin dips, gaze meeting mine again. “A present?”
I nod.
“What kind of present?”
My hand slips into my pocket, fingers closing around the small box before I pull it free and place it in her palm.
She cuts me a look, suspicion edging toward curiosity. “What have you done, Masters?”
“Open it and find out.”
A faint smile plays at her lips as she lowers onto my lap, settling across my thighs before flipping the lid open.
Her breath catches at the necklace inside—a silver chain, delicate and bright, with a small glass orb hanging at its center. Three tiny white dandelion seeds float within, frozen mid-flight, anchored by a slender silver tag etched with three words: Make a wish.
“I found it at a little shop in Lancaster.” The words are barely there, my gaze fixed on every flicker that crosses her face.
Her fingers tremble as she lifts it free, lashes fluttering with the threat of tears, as if she can’t quite believe what she’s holding. “It’s perfect…”
I take the chain from her hands, snapping the clasp open. She doesn’t need me to ask—she sweeps her hair over one shoulder, baring the graceful line of her neck.
The clasp clicks shut, my fingers grazing her skin before my mouth brushes a kiss there. “Now you can make wishes every day, no matter the month.”
A soft sound slips past her lips, her hand closing over the globe like she’s afraid it might disappear.
“Thank you,” she whispers, voice breaking. “No one’s ever given me something this nice before.”
The confession slams into me, my thumb catching the tears on her cheeks. “That’s a goddamn crime, Goldilocks. You should’ve had a hundred gifts like this by now.”
Her gaze holds mine, heavy with trust and something deeper, before she catches the hem of her shirt and lifts it in one slow motion, baring herself to me—fully and completely.
The sight punches the air from my lungs. “Jesus…”
She’s goddamn perfection, stripped down to nothing but the necklace—silver glinting against warm skin, the glass orb resting above her breasts like it was always meant to live there, claiming her as mine.
My hand lifts, thumb brushing the pendant before skimming lower, tracing the peak of her breast.
Her teeth catch her bottom lip, a devastating moan slipping free. I claim the sound with my mouth, the kiss hard and hungry. She’s right there with me, her tongue meeting every thrust.
“Need you,” she murmurs, her hands sliding beneath my shirt.
I break from her mouth only long enough to rip it over my head, then I’m pulling her back in, chest to chest, skin to skin, our groans breaking on the same breath.
“Christ, Harlow…” My voice scrapes against my throat, hoarse with everything she makes me feel. “Your skin’s so damn soft, baby. I could spend a lifetime getting lost in it.”
“Good,” she breathes, arching closer. “Because I never want you to stop touching me.”
Stopping isn’t an option. Not with her. Not now. Not ever.
My hands slide up her ribs, cupping the soft weight of her breasts before my mouth closes over one candy pink nipple.
Her cry fractures the quiet, fingers fisting in my hair as she holds me captive.
I give her what she wants, feasting like I’ll never get enough, tongue and teeth drawing her apart until she’s trembling against me.
“Now.” Her whisper is breathless, urgent. “Please.”
The two words sear through me, burning away the last of my restraint.
The rest of our clothes are gone in a rush, tangled between ragged breaths and desperate hands.
Then she’s straddling me again, palms pressed to my chest as she sinks down slow, taking me deep.
“Fuck…” The curse rips from my throat, guttural against the surge of need.
“God, I missed you,” she moans, bracing herself.
The truth in her voice hits like a blade, cutting straight through me.
“I know, baby.” My hands brand her hips, dragging her down deeper. “It was a long goddamn week. But I’m here now. Take what you need. Take all of me.”
Her hips find a rhythm, slow and deep, every roll responding to mine.
“That’s it,” I rasp, guiding her, needing her. “So fucking good.”
She pushes upright, body curving, head tipped back in abandon—and for a moment, I’m wrecked by the sight of her. The wild spill of her hair, rise and fall of her chest, the necklace glinting between her breasts like it was made for this moment.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful.”
Her gaze drops to mine, smile soft and sweet.
I live for that fucking smile.
My hand slips between us now, fingers finding her wet heat, circling her clit.
A gasp pushes past her lips, hips stuttering. “Oh god…”
“Good, baby?”
“So good,” she whimpers, chasing the friction. “I love it. I love y—” Her words falter, a flicker of truth before she hides it. “I love being yours.”
That slip of her tongue damn near breaks me. She has no idea how bad I want those words. How easy I would give them back. For now, I’ll take this. The way she clings to me, giving me everything without saying it.
I thrust up into her, a groan tearing from my chest as pleasure rips through every nerve.
“Yes!” She rides me harder, wilder, her body trembling with every surge.
She’s right there, teetering on the edge. I feel it in the way she grips me, in the shiver that rolls through her…
“That’s it, baby,” I growl, driving up into her. “Break for me.”
She shatters on the next breath, her hand flying to the orb at her throat, clutching the glass sphere like a wish too dangerous to speak aloud.
Whatever she’s wishing in that moment, I know I’ll spend the rest of my life making it come true.