Page 60 of Theirs to Hunt
“I know you’re the only person who’s ever made my father lose sleep.”
That earns a small, real smile.
“And you?” she asks.
“You lose sleep too?”
I dry my hands, still watching her.
“I dream about you, Reagan.
And I haven’t done that since I was a kid.”
I take a step closer. Not touching. Not yet. Just close enough that she feels it.
“This thing, whatever it is, it doesn’t have to make sense to anyone but us.”
Her fingers curl around the edge of the counter.
She needs something solid.
So I grab her hips and lift her onto the counter so we’re eye to eye.
“I’m not going to let you fall without someone to catch you,” I say. “Not me. Not Grayson. Not ever again.”
She starts to argue. I see it. But she doesn’t. She whispers, “I don’t know how to do this.”
I smile, slow and sure. “Good. We’ll figure it out together.”
Upstairs, the water starts running.
Grayson. Always perfectly timed.
I glance at the ceiling, then back to her.
“He’s all in, you know,” I say, softer now. “He just doesn’t always know how to say it.”
She nods. “I think I’m starting to figure that out.”
I lean in. Slow.
Letting her decide. She doesn’t back away. She leans forward.
I brush my lips over hers. Once. Twice.
She parts her lips.
And I rest my forehead against hers. “I want this. I want you. But I’m not doing this after a traumatic night and before we talk it out.”
She huffs, but nods.
We finish cleaning up, side by side. First of a thousand small moments. I want all of them.
Chapter fifty
Grayson, Saturday 10:00 a.m.
The water is hot. Too hot. But I let it burn. Let it chase the ache from my shoulders and the tension from my jaw.
