Page 48 of Mountain Hero

An unhappy expression moved across his face. “I’m sorry, Winter. I tried?—”

“No. Stop.” We were sitting beside each other on the couch, and I climbed into his lap before continuing. “I love being here with you. I told you that. And what you did the other day… it was amazing. I loved it.”

How could I not? It’s been two days since the magical day Enzo arranged for me, and I still can’t stop thinking about it. The surprise breakfast and lazy morning, cuddled on the couch with Enzo. The games out in the yard. How he transformed the patio from basic to beautiful all while I was asleep.

And then the evening, when we ate Italian by candlelight and shared tiramisu and wine, followed by a new-to-theaters movie Alec somehow got for us to stream early. Enzo and I snuggled and kissed and talked all night until we both fell asleep on the couch, waking up hours later entwined together like pretzels.

That day broke down the last of my defenses. The shields I’d constructed around my heart fell away, leaving me open and vulnerable. But I wasn’t scared of it. Not with Enzo. In his arms—so strong, but gentle—I knew he would never hurt me.

Not physically. Never. But after he opened up about his mom and uncle, exposing his own vulnerabilities, it was like we’d reached a new phase of our relationship.

Our relationship. I’m not sure what we are. Is he my boyfriend? It seems too simple a word to describe it.

But it was that day that gave me the courage to tell Enzo everything. Before, I’d only talked about my time at Thomas’s house in vague generalities. But I knew it was time.

It was after the movie ended. Our tender kisses turned more passionate, our hands moving under clothing and his arousal prodding at me, and I was feeling more turned on than I can ever remember being, until Enzo gently set me away from him with a regretful smile.

“Why did you stop?” I asked him unnecessarily, because I really knew the answer to my question.

“Because I don’t want to rush you. If I did something to… trigger you. Scare you. I’d never forgive myself.”

I knew what Enzo was thinking. It was the same thing the police and the counselor did. “He didn’t,” I told him quietly. “What you’re thinking. Thomas. He didn’t. I don’t know why, but he never forced me.”

From there, I told him everything. How Thomas tried to force me after a few days of captivity, and how I completely lost it. I was so hysterical, Thomas backed off, and shockingly, he never tried again. He still hit me and grabbed me inappropriately, but that one line had been drawn.

Does it make it better; after all the other things Thomas did to me? No. But it’s one thing I’ll always be thankful for.

Enzo listened to me with a solemn expression and a gritted jaw, taking deep breaths to keep his calm. But he never stopped rubbing my back and stroking my hair, and when I finally finished, he said roughly, “I hate what he did to you. I wish I could kill him for it, honestly. Am I relieved he didn’t do worse? Yes. But you were still violated. Traumatized. Which is why I will never push you to do anything.”

“I know,” I whispered.

“I want you. But whatever we do, it’s on your terms. Your timeline. There’s no rush. Okay?”

My chest squeezed. “Okay.”

It’s not what I’m used to. I’ve never been the one to initiate things with the few men I’ve been with. It’s ironic, really, considering my declarations of independence and firm beliefs in gender equality. There have been plenty of times over the years that I encouraged a friend to go for it, reassuring them they didn’t have to wait for the man to make the first move.

Maybe I was too insecure before. Maybe I hadn’t met the right man, a man who would make me feel comfortable with anything.

Enzo, though? I can definitely see myself initiating sex with him.

Soon. I still need to work up the courage to do it.

And right now, my courage is already spoken for. I’m lingering minutes too long in the bathroom, fussing with hair that looks perfectly fine, trying to gird myself for what’s about to come next.

All my courage is going toward heading into work with Enzo. Spending the day at the store with him, talking to customers, making my presence known, and hopefully, sending a message to Thomas.

It should be fine. We have a plan. There’s no reason to be nervous.

Still. The flock of butterflies in my stomach—a kaleidoscope, I learned that while playing Trivial Pursuit—don’t seem to be getting the message.

Just as I’m reapplying my lip balm for the fourth time, Enzo calls through the door, “Winter? Are you okay?” He pauses. “Not that I’m trying to rush you. But it’s almost eight.”

Crap. I thought I had a little more time.

Pasting a smile on my face, I open the door and say, “I’m fine. Sorry. I lost track of time. But I’m ready to go.”

He scans my face, concern tightening his features. “Are you sure? If you’ve changed your mind, I can have Ronan come from the store to stay here.”

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