Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 48039 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48039 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
“Like I’d been in love with you since I was old enough to know what the word meant.”
Her inhale shudders like a struck chord.
I take another step closer. “And I still feel that way.”
She sways. Actually sways.
Her voice goes soft, raw. “Axel…”
I force myself to hold still, letting her come to me if she wants to. The wind whistles between us, carrying the scent of pine and distant smoke from someone’s chimney.
“You can’t just—say things like that,” she whispers.
“I didn’t plan on saying it.”
“Then why did you?”
“Because you asked.”
Her laugh breaks in her throat. It sounds like she wants to cry. Or kiss me. Or both.
We work again after that, but something shifts. Our movements sync naturally. She hands me a tool before I ask for it. I steady her shoulder when she steps on uneven stone. The whole time, the unspoken thing between us heats, grows, thrums under our skin.
A few hours later we break for lunch inside the shed. I built a small wood stove in there back when I thought maybe one day…
I never let myself finish that thought.
Savannah sits across from me on a crate, peeling off her gloves. Her fingers are red from cold, so I reach out and take her hands in mine before she can protest.
Her eyes widen. But she doesn’t pull away.
I rub warmth into her palms, slow and firm. “You should’ve told me when your hands went numb.”
“I didn’t want to slow us down.”
“You’re not slowing anything down.”
“You always say that.”
“Because it’s always true.”
Her breath trembles. The heat between our hands grows, something like electricity crawling up my arm.
She whispers, “You’re doing it again.”
“What?”
“Looking at me like you want to devour me.”
I lean closer. “I do.”
Her cheeks flush violently. “Axel…”
“I’m not touching you. I’m not crossing any line. But I’m not going to pretend I don’t want to.”
Her pulse jumps against my palm. She tries to pull her hands away.
I tighten my grip—not hurting, just holding. “Savannah.”
Slowly, achingly, she looks up.
“You’re allowed to want things too,” I tell her quietly.
Her breath hitches.
“Say it,” I murmur.
“Say what?” Her voice breaks.
“That you want this.”
She swallows—and I can see the truth burning behind her ribs, even if she’s too scared to let it out.
She shakes her head, but the denial is too slow, too weak. “I can’t.”
“You can’t because it’s not true?” I ask softly. “Or because it is?”
Her eyes glisten. She looks like a woman standing on the edge of a cliff, terrified of falling, terrified of jumping, terrified of staying still.
She whispers, “Because it is.”
My breath leaves me like a punch.
But I don’t kiss her.
I don’t move.
I don’t even exhale.
Instead, I just squeeze her hands gently, letting her feel me all the way to her bones. “Then we’ll go slow. We’ll build this the way we’re building your home.”
Her breath shivers. “How’s that?”
“Carefully,” I say. “Brick by brick. Only what you’re ready for.”
She wipes at a tear with the back of her glove. “I don’t deserve someone this patient.”
“You deserve someone who sees you,” I say. “I always have.”
She trembles. “I’m scared.”
“I know.” I reach up slowly—slow enough to give her a chance to pull away—and brush my knuckles along her cheek. “I’ve got you.”
Tears slip down her lashes, but she smiles through them. “Okay.”
Just that.
Okay.
The most powerful word she’s ever given me.
And suddenly the whole property doesn’t feel haunted anymore. It feels full. Possible. Hers again.
We spend the afternoon clearing the rest of the snow, marking out where walls might go someday. At one point she slips on ice and I catch her by the waist, pulling her flush against me. She gasps, fingers curling instinctively into my jacket.
We freeze like that.
Her breath warm against my collar.
Her heartbeat drumming against mine.
Her eyes darting from my lips to my eyes and back.
If she’d leaned in even a millimeter…
But she swallows hard and steps away.
Not ready yet.
That’s okay.
We finish as the sun dips behind the mountains, painting the snow in orange and violet. Savannah stands next to me, shoulder brushing my arm, and whispers, “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For giving me back something I thought I lost forever.”
“You didn’t lose it,” I say. “It was waiting for you.”
She looks at me then—not scared, not running, just… open.
“Axel,” she whispers, her voice barely audible over the wind. “I think I’m falling for you all over again.”
My heart slams against my ribs, but I don’t rush her. I just nod once, steady and sure.
“Then I’ll be right here,” I tell her. “Every step. Every brick.”
She exhales, a soft, warm breath that curls between us like steam.
And for the first time in ten years, she doesn’t look away.
Chapter Fourteen
Savannah
The firehouse sleeps in that eerie, post-shift quiet—lights low, engines still, the scent of smoke and cold air woven into the walls. My boots barely make a sound on the epoxy floor as I move through the bay, the letter clutched in my glove like it’s a live coal.