Page 29 of The Contractor's Rose
“But I should have told you sooner,” I whispered. “I was scared. You’re older, more experienced, and I didn’t want you to see me as a kid or?—”
“Rose.” His voice stopped my spiral before it could really take off. “You don’t ever have to hide from me. Not about this. Not about anything.”
I blinked at him, throat tight, heart aching.
“Do you still want me?” I asked, so quiet I barely heard it myself. I hated letting my insecurities win.
He didn’t answer. Not with words.
Instead, he leaned in and kissed me again. Slow. Deep.
“I wantyou,” he said against my lips. “Exactly the way you are. No pretending. No shame. Just you.”
And God help me, that was when I really fell. Not from the words coming from his mouth, and not from his hands.
But from that look in his eyes that promised I was safe in his world. I was wanted and chosen.
SIXTEEN
GAVIN
The kitchen was quiet now,except for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the slow, steady rhythm of Rose’s breathing against my chest.
The light above the stove glowed just enough to cast a soft halo around her hair, catching the curve of her cheek where it rested against my chest. She fit there too well—like she belonged there. Like I’d been waiting my whole damn life for this exact moment and didn’t know it until now.
She was curled into me, small and warm, like something precious I didn’t want to risk letting go of. My hand moved slowly down her spine, soothing more than touching—because I could feel the way her thoughts were still spinning, same as mine. Everything had changed, and we were both still catching our breath.
“You okay?” I asked, voice low, my lips brushing her temple. Her skin was warm there, impossibly soft.
She nodded, soft and sure. “More than okay.”
The breath I'd been holding slipped free. She didn’t know what it meant, how badly I’d needed that answer. Neededherto be okay. Needed this moment to not be a dream I’d wake up from.
I wrapped my arms tighter around her, like I could anchor her here with me. Her fingers moved against my chest and forearms, slow and gentle, drawing idle circles across my shirt and exposed skin. When they brushed the old scar on my bicep—one from years ago, from a stupid decision and a falling nail gun—I stilled. She didn’t ask about it. She just touched it like it mattered. LikeImattered.
“I’ve never … felt like that before,” she said, voice barely more than a whisper. “Not even close.”
I leaned back slightly, needing to see her. I tilted her chin up until her eyes met mine, wide and maybe a little uncertain, but open. So goddamn open.
“You deserve to feel like that every time, Rose. Always.”
It came out rougher than I meant, but honest in a way I couldn’t sugarcoat. Because it was true. She deserved softness. Patience. To be cherished like someone who mattered. And I wanted to be the one to give her that—again and again.
She dropped her gaze, her fingers brushing that same scar again like she was grounding herself. “I don’t know what this is,” she admitted. “I don’t know how to make sense of any of it.”
I caught her chin again, using just enough pressure to guide without forcing.
“We don’t have to make sense of it right now,” I said. “We’re here. That’s enough.”
She let out a shaky breath. “I just … I’m scared I’ll mess it up.”
“You won’t.”
Her eyes flicked to mine, searching for something—proof, maybe. A promise. “How do you know?”
I gave her the softest smile I could manage with my heart beating like a war drum.
“Because I’ve spent years doing the wrong things for the wrong reasons. I know what it feels like when something’s right. And this”—I slid my hand down to her waist, giving her a gentle squeeze—“is right.”
