Page 33 of The Forbidden Summer
He closes his eyes and I watch the tension in his shoulders rise, then slowly release, like a breath.
“It’s notjustabout protecting you,” he says, his voice cracking slightly. “It’s about protectingus.”
That lands hard. Because it’s not a no. It’s something closer to ayes, but…
I shift closer, our knees touching now, his hand still warm in mine.
“I don’t want a fantasy,” I tell him. “I want the real thing. You. Complicated, scared, frustrating as hell—you.”
Finally, he looks at me. And there’s something in his eyes I’ve never seen quite so clearly before. Not lust. Not panic. Not even guilt.
It’s longing. Naked and trembling.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he says.
“Good,” I whisper. “Then we can figure it out together.”
And this timeIlean in.
Not like the firelit kiss from last night. Not sticky with sweetness, not melting into him like chocolate between graham crackers. This one’s smaller. Barely a brush of lips. When I pull back, I rest my forehead against his.
Neither of us moves.
The fire pops behind us. Rain taps against the roof like soft applause.
And for the first time since this all began, we sit in the stillness, letting our new reality settle in our bones.
Not crashing.
Not simmering.
Justbeing.
We must fall asleep like that—foreheads touching, hearts a little steadier. At some point, he moves, I turn into him, the fire burns low. The rain hushes us into sleep.
The rain has stopped, but the world’s still soggy. The cabin smells like wood smoke and damp air, the kind of fresh that only comes after a storm.
I wake up slowly, like I’ve never been this comfortable in my life. I’m cocooned in blankets, warm all over. There’s a heaviness to the air, but it’s not bad. It’s the kind that wraps you up and tells youit’s safe to stay.
And when I open my eyes, the first thing I see is Père, still asleep, his face soft, relaxed for once. He’s lying on his side, facing me, his arm tossed across the blanket like he’s afraid I’ll slip away if he doesn’t hold on.
My heart stutters. It’s all too much—this man, these feelings, this goddamn moment. It’s exactly what I wanted, but I didn’tthink it’d feel like this. This soft, fragile thing that could break if we don’t handle it right.
Yawning wide enough to crack my jaw, I stretch, pulling the blanket a little higher, and when I do, my hand brushes his. His fingers twitch but he doesn’t wake, and I smile, letting my fingers weave with his, the way we did last night by the fire.
I stay there, just watching him sleep, until the sunlight starts to creep in through the window, casting streaks of pale gold across his face. The way it hits his skin, the lines of age and wisdom softened in the light, makes him look even more...real. Moremine.
I want to kiss him. I want to feel his lips again, hear him groan softly into the kiss, feel the world shrink down to just the two of us. But instead, I stay still, watching, just breathing in the quiet of the morning.
And then, just as the quietness becomes too full, I feel his fingers tighten around mine. His eyes flutter open, and for a moment, he’s disoriented, like he forgot where he is, forgot where we are.
Then he looks at me, and everything settles.
“You’re still here,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep.
“Where else would I go?” I answer, squeezing his hand gently. “I’m right here. Always.”
He smiles, just the faintest curve of his lips. And then, before he can say anything more, he pulls me in, kissing me slow and soft, the kind of kiss that sayswe’re still figuring this out,butwe’re here.
