Page 65 of The Forbidden Summer
Morning light spills across the bed, warm on my face. I wake to the sound of birds and the faint smell of woodsmoke from last night's fire still lingering in the stove.
Père is already awake, lying on his side facing me. His hand rests on my back, tracing lazy circles, like he’s memorizing me all over again.
“Did you come back because of the fire?” he asks, his voice low, a little rough with sleep.
I blink up at him, my chest tightening. I almost say yes, because of course I did, I was panicked. Out of mymind with worry.
But I owe him the truth.
“I came back because you're here,” I whisper. “The fire just gave me an excuse.”
His hand stills. His eyes search mine like he’s looking for cracks, any sign I’ll take it back.
I push closer, tucking my head under his chin, feeling him breathe me in like he needs me as much as I need him.
“I would’ve come even without the fire,” I say, voice thick. “I couldn’t stay away.”
For a long moment, he just holds me, his arms tightening until there’s no space between us. I feel him exhale, a long, shuddering breath, like maybe he’s been holding it for weeks.
“Did you tell your parents?”
“I did.” Lifting my hand to his face, I caress his stubbled cheek. “She’s… trying to understand, but I don’t think she’s mad.”
“I wouldn’t blame her if she was.”
“I think she’s more afraid of losing me. Making a point isn’t that important.”
Père leans into my touch, his eyes searching, like he can’t quite believe I’m here, that this is real. His hand covers mine, holding it against his cheek like he never wants to let go.
“I get that,” he says quietly. “I was afraid of losing you, too.”
I scoot closer until our knees bump, and I can feel the warmth of him seeping into my skin.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I promise. “Not unless you send me away.”
He shakes his head immediately, fierce and certain. “Never.” His thumb brushes over my knuckles. “Even if it’s hard sometimes… even if the world doesn’t understand… you’re my heart, Van. Always have been.”
My throat tightens, and all I can do is press my forehead to his, breathing him in, memorizing the way he smells.
Outside, the cabin creaks and sighs around us. I close my eyes and whisper against his skin, “I’m home.”
And I mean it in every way that matters.
We lay like that for a long time, dozing on and off, in no hurry to leave the safety of the warm cocoon of his embrace.
When the smell of coffee and bacon reaches me, I climb out of bed and wander down the hall. The faint creak of floorboards under Père’s boots calls me to the kitchen. Sunlight slips through the parted halves in the curtains, painting lazy golden stripes across the table. I stretch, feeling the soreness in my limbs, the leftover adrenaline from the night before when I thought I might lose him forever.
Padding barefoot across the kitchen, I join him by the window, mug in hand, watching the lake. He’s got that far-off look he wears sometimes, like he’s talking to ghosts only he can hear.
Without a word, I wrap my arms around his waist and rest my cheek against his back. He hums low in his throat, leaning into me.
“Thought you'd sleep longer,” he murmurs.
“Didn't want to waste a minute,” I say, voice still rough with sleep.
We drink coffee on the porch, watching the early morning mist lift off the water. The silence between us feels almost sacred. No expectations, no big talks about the future. Just being in the moment. Together.
When the sun is high above the peaked roof, we walk theperimeter of the cabin together, surveying the damage. Ash dusts the grass and the lower branches of trees like a grim kind of snow, but the cabin itself is untouched, stubborn, and strong, like Père.
