Page 10 of One S'more Time

Ultimately, though, it's my own selfishness that wins. I need to feel her in my arms, to draw her close enough that her softness presses against me. The firefighter in me has always been about sacrifice, about putting others first, but right now, with Ellie looking at me like I might disappear if she blinks, I can't deny what I want. Her big eyes, that vulnerable smile, the way she holds herself like she's afraid to take up too much space—all of it calls to something primal in me.

I take her in my arms and kiss her gently. She opens her mouth for me, so trustingly. I cradle the back of her head, drawing her closer despite the slight twinge in my shoulder. There's a tenderness in how she yields to me, her body softening against mine in a way that makes my chest ache. I've faced down burning buildings without flinching, but this—Ellie's quiet surrender, the small sigh that escapes her as our lips meet—this terrifies me in the best possible way. I deepen the kiss, savoring the sweetness I find there.

A few nights ago, I had my tongue pressed against the most secret part of her. But somehow, this kiss feels just as intimate asthat was. Maybe even more so. There's something about the way she's trusting me with her softness, with the vulnerable curve of her neck as she tilts her head back. I've tasted so much of her body, but this—the gentle pressure of her lips, the quiet catch in her breath—feels like she's giving me something even more precious than her pleasure. Something fragile and new that I'm terrified of breaking.

"Ellie, you have to know that you're everything," I say, my usually-confident voice cracking a little. "Everything that I've been looking for." The words feel inadequate compared to the storm of emotions inside me, but they're the truest thing I've ever said. My training taught me how to stay calm in chaos, but nothing prepared me for how this woman makes me feel—like I'm both grounded and falling all at once.

"I believe you," she whispers, and I know what it costs my girl, who's obviously been hurt in the past, to give me that trust. She nestles closer, and I feel the weight of her words like a physical thing between us. Someone taught her not to believe in promises, to expect disappointment instead of devotion. The thought of it makes something protective and fierce rise up in me—the instinct to shield, to save. But this isn't about rescuing her; it's about earning the faith she's placing in me right now, fragile as blown glass.

"Good," I say, my voice a little husky with emotion. "Because I want to be everything you need, too." I brush my thumb across her cheek, memorizing the softness of her skin, the way her dark curls catch the light. "Not just today or tomorrow, but for as long as you'll have me." The words feel right in my mouth, natural in a way that surprises me—me, who my sister swears has commitment issues. But with Ellie, everything feels different.Steady. Like I've finally found solid ground after years of shifting sand.

"Come over tonight," she says, her eyes soft and vulnerable. There's a question hidden in her invitation, a hope that trembles between us like a living thing.

My heart kicks against my ribs. "Yeah?" I ask, just to be sure I'm not misreading this moment.

She nods, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "I want to make you dinner. Nothing fancy, but..." She trails off, tucking a curl behind her ear, that simple gesture making something warm unfurl in my chest. "I just want more time with you. Is that okay?"

I don't even try to hide my smile. My usual caution evaporates like morning dew. "That's more than okay. That's perfect." And it is—the thought of sitting across from Ellie at her table, watching her move through her kitchen, getting to see another piece of her world—it feels like a gift I can't wait to unwrap.

I knock on Ellie's door at exactly seven, a bottle of red wine in one hand and a ridiculous flutter in my stomach that makes me feel like a teenager again. The door swings open, and there she is—hair loose around her shoulders, wearing a simple dress that hugs every curve I've been thinking about since that night on her couch. The sight of her knocks the air right out of my lungs.

"Hi," she says, a shy smile playing at her lips as she steps back to let me in.

Her apartment smells incredible—garlic, herbs, and something rich and savory that makes my mouth water instantly. But it's Ellie herself who holds my attention, the way she moves through her space with that quiet confidence she only seems to have when she's in her element. In her kitchen, she's not the woman who doubts herself; she's an artist in her studio.

"Hope you like lasagna," she says, taking the wine from my hands, our fingers brushing in a way that sends electricity up my arm. "It's my grandmother's recipe. Nothing fancy, but..."

"It smells amazing." I follow her into the kitchen, watching as she moves around with practiced ease. "Can I help with anything?"

She shakes her head, dark curls bouncing. "Just keep me company."

I lean against the counter, content to watch her work. There's something mesmerizing about the way she moves—purposeful and precise. Her hands, those same hands that create delicate pastries with such care, now assemble a salad with the same thoughtful attention. I've dated women who put on a show in the kitchen, who treated cooking as performance art. Ellie's different. She cooks like she does everything else—with genuine heart and zero pretense.

Dinner is perfect—layers of pasta, cheese, and sauce that melt in my mouth. We talk easily, about everything and nothing. Her laugh when I tell her about Cooper's latest misadventure makes something warm unfurl in my chest. This feels right in a way I can't quite explain, even to myself.

When she brings out dessert—a chocolate soufflé that's somehow both impossibly light and decadently rich—I can't help but shake my head in wonder.

"What?" she asks, tilting her head slightly.

"You. This." I gesture between us. "I'm just... grateful."

Her cheeks flush that perfect shade of pink I've come to crave, and she ducks her head slightly. "It's just dessert."

"No, it's not." I reach across the table, taking her hand in mine. "It's you sharing something you love with me. That means something."

The look she gives me then—shy but pleased—makes my heart stumble in my chest. We finish dessert in comfortable silence, the kind that feels intimate rather than awkward. When we move to her couch afterward, wine glasses in hand, she settles closer than necessary, her thigh pressing warmly against mine.

"Thank you for tonight," I say, setting my glass down on the coffee table. "Best meal I've had in years."

"Even better than fire station chili?" she teases, her eyes bright with mischief.

"Especially better than fire station chili. That stuff could strip paint."

Her laugh is soft and musical, and I can't resist anymore. I lean in, capturing that sound with my lips. She responds immediately, melting against me, her wine glass forgotten on the side table. Her hands come up to frame my face, fingers tracing my jawline with a gentleness that undoes me.

The kiss deepens, and suddenly she's climbing into my lap, her curves pressing against me in all the right places. Her weight feels perfect, like she was designed to fit exactly here. I run my hands up her sides, savoring the softness of her, the way she shivers slightly under my touch.

"Nate," she breathes against my mouth, and my name has never sounded so good. Her fingers tangle in my hair, tugging slightly in a way that sends heat racing down my spine.

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