CHAPTER twenty-Eight #2
His head dips, hand covering mine as if to shield himself. There’s embarrassment in the slope of his shoulders, like sharing this truth has stripped him bare.
I tilt his face back toward me, steady and unwavering.
“Don’t do that. Don’t you dare think I pity you.” My voice is firm. “I don’t.”
He blinks slowly, like the words don’t quite know how to settle in him.
“I’m amazed by you,” I say, each word deliberate. “By your strength. By your resilience. You hear me?”
He nods, but the silence between us speaks louder than anything he could say.
“Thank you for telling me your story, Elias.”
I settle back into him, letting his arms fold around me, my back against his chest again. The air is thick with unspoken things, but for the first time, it feels like he’s letting me carry a piece of the weight he’s been holding alone.
We stay wrapped in each other until the last sliver of sunlight disappears behind the canyon peaks, and the stars begin to unfurl across the indigo sky. Elias’s voice finally breaks the quiet.
“You hungry?” he asks.
“Starving,” I admit, as my stomach groans right on cue.
He rises to his feet, offering me his hand. I slide my fingers into his, letting him pull me up, still not quite ready to leave the comfort of his arms. He guides me toward the chair by the fire pit and gestures for me to sit, then fishes through my overnight bag.
When he pulls out one of my books. I smile in surprise.
“You want me to read while you cook?”
“Exactly,” he says, handing it to me like an offering. “Get comfortable.”
I open my book, pretending to read, but my eyes flick up every few seconds, drawn to him the way they always are.
And then I notice it.
He’s stopped moving. Completely.
He’s crouched over the pile of coals, shoulders locked, knuckles white around a single match. His hand trembles and his breathing has gone shallow.
My stomach drops.
Before I even realize I’ve set the book aside, I’m sinking to the ground beside him.
“Hey,” I whisper gently, just loud enough to break through whatever memory has its claws in him.
His eyes flick toward mine, wide and unfocused, and the fear there makes my chest ache. I reach for the matchbook slowly, giving him every chance to pull away, but he doesn’t. He lets me slide it from his fingers.
“Here,” I murmur, keeping my voice soft. “Let me.”
He swallows hard, jaw tight, shame flashing across his features. Vulnerability settles into the space between us like a fragile thing, and I treat it like one.
Turning slightly so he doesn’t have to watch, I strike the match. The flame blooms instantly—small, controlled, safe—and I lower it into the pit until the charcoal catches. The glow spills over us, painting his face in warm gold and soft shadows.
I blow out the leftover flame and set the matchbook aside before standing, offering him my hand.
He takes it. Slowly.
When he rises beside me, he still hasn’t said a word, but he doesn’t need to. His eyes, glassy and earnest, tell me everything.
Thank you.
I’m trying.
I trust you.
Elias heads to the picnic table and starts unloading a cooler full of ingredients. I can’t quite make out what he’s prepping, but there’s a flurry of chopping, mixing, and the unmistakable clink of a Dutch oven lid.
“Hey, tattooed Gordon Ramsey,” I call out, teasing. “What culinary masterpiece are you crafting over there?”
“So impatient,” he mutters without looking up, and I can’t help the grin that curls across my lips.
I return to my book, but I’m not reading anymore.
I’m watching him through half-lidded eyes as he pours ingredients into the pot and sets it carefully over the glowing coals, scattering a few embers across the lid.
He crouches beside the pit, bathed in a warm halo of light, and for a moment he looks mythic—like some dark guardian of fire.
After a few minutes of tending, he rises and joins me again, sinking into the chair beside mine. He doesn’t say anything, just lets the silence stretch between us while he scribbles in his journal and I pretend to read, though I’m far more aware of him than the words on the page.
After about forty minutes, Elias checks the Dutch oven, lifting the lid with a metal tool and peering inside. A rich, savory scent curls toward me—paprika, beef, roasted garlic, slow-cooked peppers, and something warm and smoky I can’t quite place.
He ladles the stew into two ceramic bowls, steam curling into the night air. I set my book down on the armrest just as he returns, handing me one of the bowls before lowering himself beside me again.
The aroma makes my mouth water. I peer down, surprised.
“Is this… chili?”
He nods, quietly proud.
I lift a spoonful, letting the steam curl against my face before tasting it. The flavors are rich and layered, smoky heat with a subtle sweetness, a hint of cumin, and a whisper of something like cocoa.
“Oh my god,” I breathe, eyes fluttering shut. “I think this is the best chili I’ve ever had.”
Elias doesn’t say anything at first. He just stirs his own bowl, shoulders relaxing, a small smile tugging at his mouth like I’ve just validated something he wasn’t sure he needed.
“How did you know this was my favorite?” I ask, still savoring the flavors blooming on my tongue.
“You told us,” he replies simply.
I wrinkle my brow, trying to recall. “I did?”
“First day on the bus,” he says. “Cody asked your favorite food during that rapid-fire question game.”
I blink, remembering the flurry of silly questions and shouted answers, the laughter and chaos.
Then everything clicks together finally. The setting, the meal, the flowers, even the random gummy bears that I was convinced was Cody’s doing. He heard it all. And he remembered.
“You were paying attention?”
He doesn’t answer with words. Just glances over with that slow, knowing smirk and raises an eyebrow before taking a bite of his own.
And in that look, I understand. Elias hears more than he ever lets on. He notices. He remembers. He cares.
He just doesn’t always know how to say it.
Elias takes my empty bowl with a gentle touch, stacking it with his before carrying them over to the picnic table. Without a word, he returns and reaches for my hand, lifting me effortlessly from my chair. His fingers remain laced with mine as he guides me back to the quilt beneath the stars.
He sinks down first, folding one arm behind his head, the other crossing casually over his chest. With a tilt of his chin, he gestures for me to join him.
I lower myself beside him, pressing into the warmth of his side, our shoulders brushing.
Our heads rest close together, tilted toward the vast canvas above.
Out here, deep within the heart of Zion, the sky is untouched by city light. It’s an ocean of stars, scattered diamonds shimmering across velvet. The sight steals the breath right out of my lungs. Every constellation feels close enough to touch.
We lie there in silence, the embers smoldering softly nearby, time seeming to slow around us.
Eventually, I turn onto my side, propping myself up on one elbow to face him. Elias does the same, his eyes meeting mine in the low light.
“Thank you for tonight,” I whisper, the words tender and full. “I didn’t know a broody rockstar could be so damn romantic.”
His lips curve into that tender smile I’ve come to adore.
“I’ve got stiff competition,” he says, his voice roughened by affection. “All those book boyfriends you keep raving about.”
I laugh softly, brushing a kiss to his mouth.
“They’ve got nothing on you.”
He catches my lips, lingering this time, slow. His hand slides into my hair, pulling me closer, and for a long moment, it feels like the stars above us might as well be falling, because the only thing that matters is here: this shared time, this special kind of magic.
I reach out and thread my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, gently dragging my nails along his skin. A sigh slips from him at the touch. We stay like that for a moment, gazes locked in the silver spill of the night.
He lifts a hand, brushing his fingertips down the curve of my cheek, tracing the line of my jaw. He runs his thumb over my bottom lip, then his touch lingers on my chin, guiding my mouth to his.
The first kiss is delicate, barely there, like the flutter of a butterfly’s wing.
Then his fingers slide to the side of my throat, his palm warm as he cradles my neck and deepens the kiss.
I taste the faint heat of the chili we shared still clinging to his lips, smoky and sweet. It’s dizzying. Addictive.
Without breaking away, he shifts back against the blanket, pulling me with him.
I follow, moving to straddle him, my knees on either side of his hips.
He sits up, and our chests are now pressed together.
His hand glides to the small of my back, holding me close as if he can’t bear to let me drift even an inch away.
His mouth breaks from mine, leaving a trail of heat along my jaw, then lower to the curve of my neck. Each kiss feels like a spark seared directly into my skin. I tilt my head back, giving him better access.
He grips the hem of my tank top, pausing just long enough for our eyes to meet. I nod, and he lifts it slowly, baring my skin to the night air. His lips find my collarbone next—soft, deliberate presses that make me tremble beneath his touch.
My fingers slide into his hair, those thick dark waves curling around my knuckles, anchoring me to him further. Every part of me feels tuned to him—the steady thrum of his heartbeat, the caress of his breath against my skin, the way the night wraps around us.
His lips hover over my thin bralette, my peaked nipple heated by his breath. He nips with his teeth, sending a jolt through me, and then brings a hand to the other and slips it under the fabric. The way his thumb teases causes my back to bow.