Chapter 21
Ripples
Caitlin
The storm had thinned to a drizzle by morning, a soft tapping against the camper windows. The air was gray, dreary, the kind of morning that made the whole world feel washed raw.
Caitlin sat curled on the bed, knees hugged to her chest, her skin alive with the memory of the night before—Burke’s mouth searing against hers, his stubble grazing her cheek, his hand slipping under her cami only to pull back at the last moment.
He’d left her shaking, her body craving what she couldn’t allow herself to desire.
The phone buzzed against the nightstand, vibrating hard enough to make her jump. An unmarked number glowed across the screen. She knew instantly who it was.
“Iz,” she whispered, breathless, pressing the phone to her ear.
“Well, good morning to you too,” Izzy drawled. “You sound like you haven’t slept a wink. Trouble in paradise already?”
Caitlin let out a shaky laugh that wasn’t really a laugh at all. Her voice cracked. “I kissed him.”
There was a beat of silence, then Izzy barked a laugh. “Which him? Don’t tell me the UPS guy finally wore you down.”
“Iz.” Caitlin pressed her forehead to her palm. “Burke. The sheriff.”
Izzy’s tone shifted, humor melting into something sharper. “Start from the top.”
Caitlin swallowed hard. “The first time was stupid. I was drunk—three cosmos in at Catch my draft. He drove me home, and he kissed me goodnight. I thought it was nothing. A slip. Pity maybe. Or curiosity.”
“And the second?”
“The farm,” Caitlin whispered. “With the horses. He kissed me again. And Iz, it wasn’t nothing. It wasn’t friendly. It was… real.”
Izzy was quiet, waiting.
“And last night—” She broke off. “Last night was different. The storm, the wine, the way he looked at me. He kissed me like he was starving, and I—God help me—I wanted it. I wanted him. If he hadn’t stopped, I don’t know if I could’ve.”
Izzy let out a low whistle. “Well, hallelujah. About damn time you remembered you’re alive. That bastard doesn’t get your future just because he ruined your past. Not if I have anything to say about it.”
Caitlin squeezed her eyes shut, guilt washing through her. “Iz, this is insane. I’m married. Legally, Jason is my husband. And Burke—he’s the sheriff. He swore an oath to uphold the law, and here I am letting him—”
“Stop,” Izzy cut in, her voice sharp enough to slice. “Jason forfeited the word husband the day he laid a hand on you. Don’t you dare feel guilty for wanting something good.”
“But it’s playing with fire,” Caitlin whispered. If he finds out who I am—what I’ve done—he’ll walk away. He’ll hate me. And I can’t drag him into this mess.
Izzy’s voice softened, but it lost none of its edge. “Listen to me, Caitlin. You deserve more than fear and hiding. If this man makes you feel safe and wanted, even for one damn night, that’s more than Jason ever gave you. Don’t you dare punish yourself for needing it.”
Caitlin let out a shaky laugh, tears pricking hot. She pressed her thumb into the soft hollow inside her knee—a childhood habit she couldn’t shake when nerves spiked. “But it can’t go anywhere. It can’t. I won’t lead him on, Iz. I can’t let myself.”
“Then don’t,” Izzy said. “But don’t shut the door either. Let yourself breathe. Let yourself feel. You’ve been running on empty for too long.”
Caitlin laughed, a watery sound—but real. “You always make it sound so easy.”
Izzy chuckled. “That’s because I’m not the one kissing the broad-shouldered sheriff. And speaking of, is he as good as I’m picturing, or am I gonna be disappointed?”
Heat flared in Caitlin’s cheeks despite herself. “Izzy!”
“That good, huh?” Izzy teased.
Caitlin laughed again, freer this time. For the first time since the night before, the worry eased just a little.
When she hung up, the drizzle tapped steady against the windows. Her lips still throbbed from Burke’s kiss. She pressed her palms flat to her knees, willing herself to calm, watching a single raindrop snake down the glass.
Even with Izzy’s words echoing in her head, one truth weighed heavier than all the rest—she couldn’t stay away from him.
Burke
Balsam Falls Brewing Company was crowded for a weeknight, the hum of voices rolling over the clink of glasses. Burke nursed his pint, leaning against the corner table.
Scout slid into the seat across from him, lifting his own beer with a lazy grin. They never needed many words; years of working side by side made silence easy.
After a few minutes, Scout tipped his glass, eyes narrowing. “So… what—or should I say who—has you so distracted?”
Burke forced a grin, but the rusted edge of a barstool pressing into his thigh kept him in the moment. His eyes drifted past Scout to the pool table, unfocused, missing the crack of a cue and the shout of a local’s win.
“Mm-hm,” Scout said, reading him easily. “Bet she’s blonde, about this tall… real pretty.”
Burke gave him a flat look over the rim of his glass. “You’re a nosy bastard, you know that?”
Scout’s grin widened. “Nope. Just observant.”
Burke tried to shrug it off but gave up. “Yeah, alright. You’re not wrong. This gal… she gets under my skin. Can’t get her out of my head, no matter how hard I try.”
Scout raised his glass in salute. “Still. Good to see you interested for a change. And she is a looker.”
Burke shot him a warning look, but Scout only smirked into his beer.
For a while, neither spoke, the easy quiet stretching between them again. The jukebox shifted songs, a blues riff rumbling low through the noise. Scout slid another coaster his way, and Burke took it absently.
He could joke, drink, and distract himself all night, but none of it dulled the craving. He wanted her—wanted the way she’d tasted last night, wanted every fierce and trembling bit. The ache kept building, miles away from her, craving a future he wasn’t sure he deserved.