Page 97 of Swept for Forever
Autumn led us down to River Walk, right in the heart of the city. The path curved alongside Snake River, its banks lined with lighting that flickered against the water. The falls weren’t loud, not from this distance, but the sound was constant, soothing.
We walked hand in hand, the city behind us fading into stillness. The lamps lit our steps, their glow pooling at our feet, and ahead, the white spires of Idaho Falls Temple rose above the trees. The falls spilled steadily beneath it, mist curling at their base.
I glanced over at Autumn.
She wasn’t just beautiful. She didn’t shimmer like some impossible thing I’d never reach. She was just real, present, and somehow more mine with every quiet second. I’d known a lot of women. I’d laughed with them, danced with them, and undressed them. But none had ever felt like this.
None had shredded me by simply holding my hand.
“I love Buffaloberry Hill,” she went on. “The people, the T-shirts.”
We laughed.
She added, “Sure, commuting for training might be tricky, but…there’s always a way, right?”
I didn’t answer right away. I couldn’t. Because something opened inside me at that moment. It was not fear exactly, but something close. The kind that told you if you messed it up, you’d never forgive yourself.
She made me want to get it right.
I slipped my arms around her from behind and pulled her close, my chin resting lightly against her temple. Together, we stood there watching the falls, the soft roar spilling into the silence between us.
And when I couldn’t hold it anymore, I leaned down, brushed my lips just behind her ear, and whispered, “Will you come back to my hotel with me?”
She turned in my arms, her hands finding the front of my shirt. “That’s a bold ask, Counselor.”
I arched a brow. “You planning to object?”
She smiled, certain, all-in. “Not a chance.”
I openedthe door and let her step in first. The moment we crossed the threshold, I reached for her coat and slid the fabric down her arms.
She paced leisurely toward the window as I hung the coat in the closet. It was still warm from her, still carrying her barely-there scent.
“So this is what a hotel room in my hometown looks like,” she said.
The view overlooked the river, dark now, but the glow from the path lights gave just enough away. The falls were a hush in the distance.
She stood there for a moment, silhouetted. A dream I’d somehow caught. And she was right here.
“Oh, you’ve got wine,” she said, motioning to the bottle on the table.
“It crossed my mind that I might be drinking it solo tonight. Figured I’d come prepared.”
“May I?” Her fingers were already on the cap.
“Of course.”
She uncorked it and reached for two glasses without hesitation. When she poured and lifted hers, she took one sip, then another. Then a third, too fast.
At dinner, she’d paced herself, always with water in between. Controlled. Composed. Now her hand lingered on the glass longer than it should’ve, the edge of the stem pressing into her skin like she needed the contact to ground herself.
Before she could tip it back again, I stepped closer. My fingers brushed hers, wrapping around the glass and guiding it down.
Her lips parted. I thought she’d object, but I just set the glass aside.
“You don’t need that,” I said quietly. “Not with me.”
I traced my hands up her arms, over the bare skin her dress so generously revealed. My mouth found the spot just below her ear, giving her the softest brush, but enough to make her tremble.
