Page 42 of Always You

Chapter Twenty-One

JAZZ

We sat outsideunder the skeletal branches of the old tree, our breaths forming tiny clouds in the icy air. It was a typical Chicago winter day—bitterly cold, with a sharp wind cutting through the layers. After a while, the chill became too much, even with our heavy coats, and we decided to head back indoors through the visitors' space, silently agreeing, underscored by shivers.

As soon as the door shut behind us, sealing out the cold, we began shedding our winter armor. Coats were placed on a chair with a thud, gloves stuffed into pockets. Alex pulled off his beanie, his hair standing in static-charged rebellion. We laughed, a warm sound in the cozy space.

“Man, Chicago winters, huh?” I said, shaking my head as I unwound my scarf. “They never get easier.”

Alex nodded, trying to pat down his hair, his hands making a mess of it. “Every year, I tell myself I’ll get used to it, and it’s a lie every year.”

I reached over, my fingers smoothing down a wayward wisp of his hair. His eyes widened at the contact, a blush creepingup his neck. “There, better,” I said, trying to make light of the moment.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his voice a little unsteady. We stood there for a moment, lost in each other’s eyes, the air charged with an unspoken connection.

Breaking the silence, I admitted, “I wouldn't have survived this winter on the streets, even with the places I used to find beds.” The confession hung heavy in the air.

Alex paled, his expression tightening with concern. “Don't even say that, Jazz.” He turned away momentarily, then stared back at me, his eyes intense. “Thank God, you found us. I couldn't live in a world without Jasper Brookes.”

His words sent a shiver through me that had nothing to do with the cold. It was a stark reminder of how different things could have been, how close I'd come to a much darker path. We went to the kitchen, a haven of warmth after the frosty outside. I noticed a bright pink hair band on the counter, obviously Harper's. I picked it up, rolling the soft elastic between my fingers, a small connection to my daughter, who wanted me in her life.

“It’s good to have you here.Reallyhere,” Alex said, watching me with the hair band. He pulled two mugs from a cabinet and set them on the counter. “More coffee?”

“Please,” I said. The room's warmth enveloped us, and my skin prickled as it adjusted from the biting cold outside. The rich and inviting smell of coffee filled the air.

As Alex busied himself with the coffee maker, I glanced around. Guardian Hall wasn’t only a building; it was a lifeline, a place where second chances were born. I thought about the future, Harper, and whatever I had going on with Alex. My heart was full, buoyed by a surge of hope and possibilities stretching before me.

“Here we go,” Alex said, handing me a steaming mug. Our fingers brushed briefly, and that same electric charge zipped through me.

“To new beginnings,” I said, raising my mug in salute.

“To new beginnings,” he echoed, clinking his mug against mine.

We sat at a small table near the window, where the frost had painted delicate patterns on the glass. It was beautiful in a stark, wintry way. I watched Alex sipping his coffee, the steam curling up around his face. He caught me looking and smiled, a real, genuine smile that reached his eyes.

“You know, I'm really glad you're here, Jazz. Not just at Guardian Hall, but here, now, with me.” He sounded sincere.

“Me too, Alex. More than you know,” I replied, feeling a warmth that the chilliest Chicago winter couldn’t touch.

We talked longer about everything and nothing—plans for the hall, memories of past winters, the way the city lights looked against the snow. It was easy and comfortable, but I wanted to reach out and pat down that wayward flick of hair again.

As we lingered over the last sips of coffee, Alex glanced at his watch and a shadow crossed his face. “I need to go,” he said, reluctance woven into his voice.

I felt a sudden tug in my chest because I didn’t want him to leave. “Can I get another hug before you go?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light.

“Of course.” Alex smiled, standing and opening his arms.

The hug started light and friendly, a comforting gesture. I rested my chin on his shoulder, breathing in his familiar scent. Then, unexpectedly, a rush of warmth surged through me, my body reacting in a way it hadn't in forever. I stiffened, realizing what was happening as Alex began to pull away.

“I’m sorry,” I stammered, embarrassment heating my face.

But instead of stepping back, Alex cradled my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing my cheeks. “Don’t be,” he whispered, then his lips were on mine.

It was a kiss we had said we’d wait for, a breach of the careful boundaries we’d set. But it was as if all the pent-up emotions, the years of connection, and moments of shared vulnerability poured into that kiss. It was full of love, recognition, and familiarity that made my heart ache with the need for more.

Alex’s kiss deepened, and I responded eagerly, my hands finding their way to his waist, pulling him near. There was no hesitation now, just the overwhelming desire to be as close as possible. When we broke apart, both of us breathless, there was no awkwardness—only a mutual recognition of something undeniable between us.

“This is wrong,” I murmured against his lips. “We said we’d wait.”

---