Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 29299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
“Why?”
“Because I’ll believe you.”
“Good.” The word slips out before I can stop it.
He studies me like I’m something fragile and dangerous all at once.
“You don’t understand what you’re asking for,” he says.
“I’m not asking for anything.”
“You are.”
He closes the distance again. This time slower. His hand settles on my waist. My breath stutters.
“You’re asking me to want you without restraint,” he says. “You’re asking me to forget I’m your employer. That I have a daughter asleep down the hall.”
“I would never cross a line with Lacee.”
“I know.” His voice softens. “That’s what makes this harder.”
I reach up, fingers curling into his shirt.
“You think I don’t feel it?” I whisper. “Every time you walk into a room? Every time you say my name like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like it belongs to you.”
His eyes flash. “That’s not fair.”
“It’s true.”
His hand tightens at my waist.
“You want honesty?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“I think about you more than I should.”
My heart slams against my ribs.
“I imagine what it would feel like to stop pretending,” he continues, voice rougher now. “To kiss you without worrying about consequences.”
“Then do it.” The words are barely air.
He freezes. “Don’t challenge me,” he warns.
“Why? Afraid I won’t be able to handle it?”
That does it. His mouth crashes against mine. Not gentle. But not frantic either.
Controlled. Measured.
Like he’s testing himself.
My hands grip his shoulders. Heat surges through me, sharp and bright.
He kisses me deeper, hand sliding from my waist to the small of my back.
For a moment, the world narrows to breath and heat and the steady thud of his heart under my palm.
Then he pulls away.
Abrupt.
Like he’s touched something that burns.
“This is exactly what I meant,” he says, breathing hard.
“What?”
“You deserve someone uncomplicated.”
“I don’t want uncomplicated.”
“You think that now.”
His hands fall from me. The space between us feels colder than it did before.
“I won’t be the man who takes advantage of you,” he says.
“I’m not being taken advantage of.”
“You’re young.”
“Stop saying that like it’s a flaw.”
“It’s not a flaw,” he snaps. “It’s a fact. You were in high school when I was putting my wife in the ground.”
“And you being widowed is a fact. And you being a father is a fact. And I still want you.”
The words hang heavy in the air. He looks at me like I’ve just struck him.
“You don’t know what that means,” he says quietly.
“Then tell me.”
He shakes his head. “You think this is about restraint?” he asks. “It’s not. It’s about permanence.”
My chest tightens.
“You don’t get to touch me like that and then act like I’m temporary,” I say.
He closes his eyes briefly.
The silence hangs between us, thick and charged. He steps closer one last time, cupping my face gently.
“You scare me,” he says.
“Good.”
His lips twitch. “Not because you’re reckless,” he continues. “Because you matter.”
That undoes me more than the kiss.
“I don’t want to be a phase,” he says. “And I won’t let you be one.”
“I’m not asking to be.”
He exhales slowly. “You make me forget how broken I felt,” he murmurs. “You make this house feel… alive.”
“Then let it be alive.”
He rests his forehead against mine. “For tonight,” he says softly, “we stop here.”
My heart aches. “Because I’m too young?”
He brushes one last kiss against my temple. “Go to bed, Tessa.”
“You first.”
He smiles faintly. “Stubborn.”
“Always.”
We separate reluctantly. The air still hums with everything unsaid.
As I walk toward my room, my lips still tingling, I realize something dangerous:
He didn’t retreat because he doesn’t want me.
He retreated because he does.
Chapter 7
Sawyer
The photo falls face down.
It’s a stupid accident.
Lacee is running through the living room in socks, sliding across hardwood like she’s auditioning for an Olympic sport, and she bumps the side table with her hip. The frame tips. Glass cracks against the floor.
Silence drops heavy.
I’m across the room in two strides.
Tessa is already there.
She kneels before I can even process what’s happening, carefully lifting the broken frame.
“I’m so sorry,” Lacee blurts, frozen.
“It’s okay,” Tessa says immediately, steady. Calm. “Accidents happen.”
She doesn’t flip the picture over right away. She waits. Looks up at me first.
I nod once.
She turns the frame.
It’s my wife.
Lauren.
Smiling at something off-camera. Wind in her hair. That photo was taken at the Phantom River the summer before the fire. She’s laughing and holding her very pregnant belly, my little girl nestled inside. Just months before chaos would rip her from us.
A crack now runs straight through the glass across her face.
Lacee’s breathing goes uneven.
“I didn’t mean to,” she whispers.
I crouch in front of her. “I know you didn’t.”
Her eyes fill. Tessa stands slowly, holding the frame like it’s fragile in a way that has nothing to do with the glass.
“I’ll get the broom,” she says quietly.
She moves toward the kitchen without another word.
I guide Lacee to the couch. “Hey,” I murmur. “Look at me.”
She sniffles. “Is Mommy mad?”
That question still cuts like it’s new.
“No,” I say. “Of course not, baby. Mommy would have loved you wild.”