Page 22 of Only Ever His

His hand moved to my cheek, his thumb brushing gently along my skin, his gaze never leaving mine.

“Tori, why didn’t you call or text me immediately?” he asked, his voice rough with a blend of frustration and concern. “If I’d known, I would have?—”

“I didn’t want you to worry,” I admitted, feeling a pang of guilt as I looked into his eyes. “I thought… I thought I could handle it on my own.”

His gaze softened, but his jaw remained tight.

“You don’t have to handle it alone, Tori. Not with him. I’ll always be here for you. That’s a promise,” Cole said.

I felt a lump form in my throat as his words sank in, the weight of his loyalty and protectiveness wrapping around me like a shield.

I’d spent so long doing things alone, keeping walls up to keep myself safe, but with Cole… those walls felt unnecessary.

It was both terrifying and incredibly freeing.

Before I could find the words to thank him, Cole’s expression softened, and he leaned closer.

“Let’s get out of here. You don’t need to think about him. Just me,” Cole said.

I nodded, and as he led me to the door, I felt a warmth flood through me.

As soon as we stepped outside, Cole pulled me to him, his arms wrapping around me.

My heart pounded as his face neared mine, his green eyes searching my face, as if asking for permission.

Then his lips pressed against mine, firm yet tender, his hand slipping to my waist as he held me close.

I felt a thrill run through me as I melted into him, the world fading away until it was just us, wrapped in each other’s warmth.

When he pulled back, his gaze lingered, fierce yet soft.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “No one’s ever going to hurt you again. Not while I’m here.”

COLE

The lights of the community hall cast a warm glow over the business appreciation gathering as I escorted Tori inside, my hand resting against the small of her back.

She looked stunning, her eyes bright with excitement, her confidence shining through in the way she moved.

Her navy dress hugged her frame perfectly, understated but graceful, much like her.

This was her world—one she’d built from scratch—and I felt proud just standing beside her.

Tori greeted friends and fellow shop owners, introducing me with a smile that hinted at both pride and a touch of self-consciousness.

As she led me through the small crowd, introducing me to the different people who made Oakridge run, I admired her poise.

She had truly built a life here, independent and strong, a long way from the shadows of her past.

“This is Cole Valen,” Tori introduced, her voice carrying a hint of pride, which made my heart ache in a good way.

Each introduction seemed to unfold another layer of her world—the quirky bookstore owner who stocked Tori’s clothing line.

The older couple who owned the bakery down the road, and the slightly eccentric guy with the coffee shop who apparently brewed the “best latte on the East Coast.”

She laughed with her friends, her cheeks flushed with the warm color of happiness.

But even as she moved through the crowd, seemingly relaxed, I could tell she was still shaken.

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