Total pages in book: 17
Estimated words: 15551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 78(@200wpm)___ 62(@250wpm)___ 52(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 15551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 78(@200wpm)___ 62(@250wpm)___ 52(@300wpm)
She set the table just as Luke stepped in, wiping his hands on a towel. His hair was windswept, and his cheeks were kissed pink from the cold. He wrapped his arms around her from behind and nuzzled the side of her neck.
“Smells like you’re trying to make me fall in love with you again.”
Zoe leaned into him. “Just trying to keep you from escaping to the shop when company shows up.”
He chuckled, warm and close. “Too late. I’m in for life.”
They stayed like that for a beat longer—no rush, no noise, no tension. Just skin against skin and the soft sound of wind outside.
“Remember when you said you were only staying for a few days?” Luke asked, teasing.
“I also said I didn’t like small towns,” she replied, smiling.
“And mechanics.”
“And hay bales. And porch swings. And cider.”
Luke kissed the top of her head. “Now you’re practically a local.”
She turned to face him. “Don’t tell Mae. She’ll have me running the next bake sale.”
They both laughed, and he kissed her—quick and sure, like he had a thousand times before.
Then the doorbell rang, and just like that, the house filled with voices and laughter and the clatter of dishes. Mae claimed her usual seat by the window. Sarah teased Zoe about finally learning to cook. Penny brought a pie anyway. And somewhere in the middle of it all, Zoe caught Luke’s gaze from across the room.
He didn’t smile.
He just looked at her like she was the most solid thing he’d ever known.
Later that night, long after the guests had gone and the dishes were drying by the sink, Zoe stood on the porch, wrapped in one of Luke’s flannels, looking up at the stars.
Luke joined her with two mugs of tea, passing one into her hand. The steam curled upward, catching the golden light of the setting sun filtering through the trees of Willow Creek. She wrapped her fingers around the warm ceramic, feeling the heat seep into her skin the way his presence always seemed to.
“You still glad you stayed?” he asked, his voice low and smooth, like the creek that ran behind his cabin. He wasn’t looking at her, but she could feel his attention on her, steady and unwavering.
She looked out over the trees, her heart so full it ached. The silence between them wasn’t empty; it was alive with the unspoken words they’d been circling for weeks. The way he’d catch her eye across the room and hold it a beat too long. The way his hand would graze hers when he passed her a tool or a cup of tea, sending a shiver down her spine. The way he’d say her name like it was something sacred.
“I didn’t stay,” she whispered, her voice trembling with the weight of it. “I belonged.”
Luke turned to her then, his eyes searching hers. There was something raw in his gaze, something that made her breath catch. He stepped closer, the space between them narrowing until she could feel the warmth of his body, smell the faint scent of cedar and something uniquely him.
Her heart pounded in her chest as he reached up, his fingers brushing against her brown cheek, tracing the curve of her jaw. She leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed as his thumb grazed her bottom lip. The world seemed to tilt, the trees and the creek and the cabin all fading into the background until there was only Luke and the way he looked at her, like she was the only thing that mattered.
“You do,” he murmured, his voice rough with something she couldn’t name. “You belong here.”
And then he was kissing her, his lips pressing against hers with a gentleness that made her knees weak. She melted into him, her hands finding his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her palms. His kiss was slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world, like he wanted to memorize every curve of her mouth.
She parted her lips, and he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping against hers in a way that sent heat spiraling through her. Her fingers tangled in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, needing to feel every inch of him against her. His hands moved to her waist, his grip firm but not possessive, anchoring her to him as the kiss turned urgent, desperate.
She could taste the tea on his lips, the faint sweetness of honey mingling with something darker, something that made her head spin. His breath hitched as she nipped at his bottom lip, a low groan escaping him that made her ache in ways she hadn’t known were possible.
When they finally pulled apart, they were both breathless, their foreheads resting against each other as they tried to steady themselves.
“Luke,” she whispered, her voice trembling.