8. Chapter 8
Beck
Morning light filters through the windows, casting long shadows across the cabin floor.
I’ve been awake for hours, my body aching from a night on the couch that’s too small for my frame.
Not that I regret giving Sunny my bed. The discomfort is worth knowing she slept somewhere safe after her world fell apart yesterday.
Rex whines by the door, ready for his morning walk.
I pull on my boots quietly, not wanting to wake her.
The memory of her lips against mine, her body pressed against me in the kitchen, makes my hands unsteady with the laces.
That kiss broke something loose inside me, something I thought had died years ago.
Outside, the mountain air bites with an early morning chill. Rex bounds ahead as we follow our usual trail, but nothing feels usual anymore. The woman sleeping in my bed has upended everything.
“What are we doing, boy?” I mutter as Rex sniffs at a fallen log. He looks back with what I swear is judgment in his eyes. “Yeah, I know. Getting in too deep.”
By the time we circle back, coffee already fills the cabin with its rich scent.
Sunny stands at the stove wearing my flannel shirt from yesterday, her hair a wild tangle around her shoulders.
She hasn’t noticed me yet, and I take a moment to watch her move through my kitchen like she belongs there as she talks to her friend Maya explaining the situation and thanking her for the invite to stay before hanging up the phone and my heart throbs. I don’t want her to leave.
She belongs here. The thought blindsides me with its certainty.
“Morning,” I say, my voice rougher than intended.
She turns, coffeepot in hand, and smiles. That smile hits me in the chest every time. “Hey there, mountain man. Hope you don’t mind my raiding your kitchen.”
“Mi casa es su casa.” The phrase slips out before I can think better of it.
Something flickers across her face—vulnerability, maybe hope—before she masks it with another smile. “I make a mean breakfast. It’s the least I can do for my knight in flannel armor.”
We fall into a peaceful rhythm, moving around each other in the kitchen. Her hip bumps mine as she reaches for plates. My hand brushes hers when passing the butter. Each contact sends electricity through my veins.
“Sleep okay?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
“Better than I should have, all things considered.” She flips a pancake with expert precision. “Your bed is ridiculously comfortable. You, on the other hand, look like you wrestled a bear all night.”
“Couch and I had some disagreements.”
She winces. “I feel terrible about that.”
“Don’t.” My hand finds the small of her back as I reach around her for mugs. “Worth it.”
Her breath catches at the contact, and she leans into my touch for just a moment before moving away to serve the food.
Over breakfast, she tells me about the calls she needs to make—landlord, insurance, tow truck, work. Reality crashing back after our brief bubble of peace. Her face falls more with each item on the list.
"I'll handle the tow truck."
She lifts her gaze at me and relief floods over her. "Really?"
"Yeah. I can handle that one. The rest I feel like you need to talk to everybody."
She nods. "Thank you. That's one thing off my plate. But now, I don’t even know where I’m going to live,” she says, pushing pancake pieces around her plate. “Everything happened so fast. Maya’s place is tiny, and she has a roommate.”
The words rise to my tongue without permission. “Stay here.”
Her fork freezes halfway to her mouth. “What?”
“Stay here,” I repeat, more certain this time. “Until you figure things out.”
“Beck, that’s... I can’t impose like that.”
“Not an imposition if I want you here.” The honesty in my voice surprises us both.
She sets down her fork. “We barely know each other.”
“Do we?” I hold her gaze. “I know how you take your coffee. What makes you laugh. How your voice sounds when you’re falling asleep on the phone. That’s more than I know about most people.”
“This is crazy,” she whispers, but there’s no conviction behind it.
“Probably. But I’m not taking it back.” I reach across the table, covering her hand with mine. “Stay, Sunny. At least until you have better options.” Or forever.
Her fingers twine with mine. “Why?”
The question hangs between us, loaded with everything unsaid. I could give her the simple answer of because she needs help, because I have the space, because it makes sense.
Instead, I give her the truth.
“Because these past few weeks have been the first time I’ve felt alive in years. Because waking up knowing you’re in my house makes me happier than I have any right to be.” My thumb traces circles on her palm. “Because I’m falling for you, and I’m not ready to let you go.”
Her eyes widen, lips parting in surprise. “Beck—”
“You don’t have to say anything,” I cut in, unsure. “I know the timing is terrible. You’re dealing with enough without me dumping this on you.”
“Stop.” She squeezes my hand. “I’ve been falling for you since you told me my boobs looked fine.”
A laugh escapes me, rusty and real. “Not my most poetic moment.”
“But honest.” Her eyes shine with something that makes my chest tight. “That’s what I love about you. You’re real in a way no one else in my life has ever been.”
Love. The word hangs between us, neither of us ready to claim it outright.
“So you’ll stay?” I ask, voice low.
“Yes.” She smiles, and it’s like watching the sun break through clouds. “But I’m paying rent.”
“Unnecessary.”
“Non-negotiable. I’m not a charity case.”
“Fine.” I raise her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “But I get to set the rate.”
“Which will be?”
“One cookie a day. Homemade.”
She laughs, the sound filling the cabin and settling something inside me. “You drive a hard bargain, mountain man.”
After breakfast, she makes her calls while I take care of her car then pretend to read on the couch.
The conversation with her landlord isn’t great.
The water damage is extensive, and authorities have condemned the building for at least six months for repairs.
Insurance is more promising, but will take weeks to process.
When she hangs up, her shoulders slump. “Well, that’s that. Officially homeless except for your generosity. Thank heavens, I have renters insurance.”
I move to her side, pulling her against my chest. She fits there, her head tucking under my chin. “Not homeless. You’re here.”
She looks up at me, vulnerability written across her face. “I don’t want to be a burden.”
“You’re not.” My hand cups her cheek. “Having you here... I like it more than I should.”
“Why more than you should?”
The question brings back memories I’ve tried to bury. Five years of solitude, of building walls brick by brick to keep the world and any pain at bay.
“I didn’t plan on letting anyone in again,” I admit. “After Diane left, I swore I was done with relationships.”
Her hand covers mine where it rests against her face. “What happened? With your marriage?”
The question I’ve been avoiding for weeks. But here, with her warm and real against me, the answer comes easier than expected.
“We wanted different lives.” I lead her to the couch, keeping her hand in mine. “I wanted family, roots, a place to build something lasting. She wanted career advancement, city life, and constant movement.”
“And you couldn’t compromise?”
“We tried. For fifteen years.” The memories surface of many arguments about relocating, postponed family plans, schedules that never aligned. “I followed her to three cities, built and sold two houses. Put my dreams on hold because there was always another promotion, another opportunity.”
“That couldn’t have been easy.”
“It wasn’t.” My thumb traces the soft skin of her wrist. “The final straw was a job offer in London. Executive position, everything she’d worked for. I told her I couldn’t do it again, couldn’t uproot one more time.”
“So she left.”
“She left.” The words still hold an echo of pain, but duller now. “Didn’t even look back. Said I was holding her back, that she’d wasted years compromising her potential.”
Sunny’s free hand finds my face, fingers gentle against my beard. “She was wrong.”
“Was she?” The question that’s haunted me for years. “Maybe if I’d been more supportive, more willing to change—”
“No.” Her voice is firm. “Relationships need balance. You can’t keep bending until you break.”
Something in her certainty eases a knot in my chest that’s been there so long I’d forgotten it existed.
“What about you?” I ask. “Your ex. Josh.”
Her expression clouds. “That was different. Josh didn’t want me to succeed. He wanted me small, manageable. Every time I talked about the food truck, he had ten reasons why it wouldn’t work.”
My jaw tightens. “Sounds like an asshole.”
She laughs, but it lacks humor. “He was. But I didn’t see it until he was gone.” Her eyes meet mine. “Not until I started talking to you and realized what support actually feels like.”
My hand slides to the back of her neck, pulling her closer until our foreheads touch. “Your food truck is going to happen. And it’s going to be amazing.”
“You believe that.” Wonder colors her voice.
“I do.” I brush my lips against hers gently, asking permission.
She answers by pressing closer, her mouth soft and warm against mine. The kiss deepens, her hands finding their way into my hair as mine span her waist, pulling her onto my lap.
The feel of her weight settling against me breaks whatever restraint I had left. My hands slip under the flannel shirt she’s wearing, finding the warm skin beneath. She gasps into my mouth when my fingers trace up her ribcage.
“Beck,” she whispers against my lips.
“Hmm?” I can barely form words with her shifting on my lap, her thighs straddling mine.
“Last night you said we should wait until I’m ready.” Our gazes connect, and her eyes are dark with desire but clear with certainty. “I’m ready.”
Those two words send heat coursing within me. My hands tighten on her hips, pulling her more firmly against me so she can feel what she does to me.
“Are you sure?” I ask, needing to hear it.
In answer, she takes my hand and guides it higher under her shirt, until my palm cups her breast. The soft weight of her fills my hand, her nipple hardening against my palm.
“I’ve been sure since the first time we talked on the phone,” she says, voice catching as my thumb circles her nipple. “I’ve been imagining your hands on me for weeks. Your mouth on my skin. Your body on top of mine.”
The admission breaks something loose in me. I capture her mouth with mine, pouring weeks of longing into the kiss. Her body arches against me, seeking more contact, more pressure.
I stand, lifting her with me. Her legs wrap around my waist as I carry her toward the bedroom, our mouths never separating. At the doorway, I pause, pulling back just enough to see her face.
“Last chance to change your mind,” I say, voice rough with need.
Her answer is to kiss me again, deep and hungry, her body pressing impossibly closer to mine.
I know with absolute certainty that nothing will ever be the same again. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.