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A smirk tugs at his lips as he grabs our bags from the trunk. "Only on Tuesdays."
I follow him up the steps to the house, still wrapped up in my own arms. Inside, it’s warmth and soft light against cool shadows—the outside world held at bay by walls of glass.
"This is... nice," I admit grudgingly as we step into the living room where minimalistic furniture complements the space without cluttering it.
"Nice?" He raises an eyebrow as he sets down our luggage. "That's one word for it."
I roll my eyes but can't suppress a smile. "Okay, it's impressive. You've got taste—I'll give you that."
Axel moves past me to secure each entry point methodically, his movements practiced and precise. I watch him for a moment before turning back to take in every inch of this new sanctuary.
"So why here?" I ask when he finishes his sweep and stands, looking almost as if he belongs amid this serenity—a stark contrast to his usual intense demeanor.
He leans against a wall, arms folded across his chest as he regards me with those deep blue eyes that don't miss much. "Peace," he says simply. "After everything... I needed somewhere that wasn't tainted by past mistakes or regrets."
His words hang between us, and in this moment of honesty, something shifts imperceptibly in the space we occupy together.
"You're full of surprises, Creed." My voice is softer now as I move closer to where he stands sentinel by the window.
I'm struck by how much the safe house doesn't suck. With a name like "safe house," you'd expect some bunker-vibe, but this place is straight out of a modern architecture magazine, all sharp angles and gleaming surfaces that somehow don't clash with the forest hugging it like a protective bear.
“You know, when you said “safe house,” my mind went to a cabin with a stockpile of baked beans, not… whatever the hell this James Bond chic is,” I say with a laugh.
He smirks at me from where he stands by the kitchen island—a slab of marble so pristine I feel like my eyes are dirtying it. "I aim to impress. And for the record, there are no baked beans here. Only gourmet shit."
I can't help but laugh. "Gourmet shit? Got it. No wonder you're single, with lines like that."
He gives me a mock wounded look before heading to the fridge and pulling out ingredients. "How about I make us dinner? Unless you're too high-maintenance for my cooking."
I cross my arms and lean against the cool glass wall, raising an eyebrow at him. "Challenge accepted. But if I end up with food poisoning, you're nursing me back to health."
The evening slips into comfortable domesticity as we chop and sauté together in silence punctuated by the occasional barb or burst of laughter. The kitchen smells like garlic and basil—homey and grounding—and for a moment, I forget about stalkers and threats.
We eat at a small table by the window overlooking the forest, which has turned from friend to shadowy watcher as night falls. It's during these quiet moments, when he talks about his time overseas or listens to my dreams of selling out Madison Square Garden, that I start seeing him less like an impenetrable fortress and more like... well, a man.
"Ever think about settling down?" I ask between bites of pasta so good it's almost indecent.
Axel's hand pauses midair. "Hadn't crossed my mind recently," he admits after a moment. "What about you? Ready to trade screaming fans for screaming kids?"
I snort, nearly choking on my water. "Hell no. Kids can't afford concert tickets."
But later, as we walk through the small town under a blanket of stars so thick it feels like we could reach up and grab them, something inside me twinges—like an old injury reminding me it's still there. It's not just Axel's broad shoulders blocking out the chill or his attentive gaze that seems to see right through me; it's this feeling of safety he wraps around me without even trying.
We stop by an old oak tree in the center of town square, its gnarled branches stretching toward heaven. He leans back against it and looks down at me with something that feels dangerously close to tenderness.
"You good?" he asks quietly.
"Yeah," I breathe out, realizing that for the first time in a long while, I actually mean it.
In Pine Haven's tranquil embrace, with Axel by my side and our pasts spread out between us like breadcrumbs leading back to who we used to be—I feel myself changing. Not into someone else entirely but into someone who can maybe trust again, someone who can admit that independence doesn't always mean going it alone.
And damn if that isn't scarier than any stalker lurking in the shadows.
We're strolling down the main street of Pine Haven, Axel and I, and I swear every brick and flower pot is straight out of a Hallmark movie. I half expect someone to jump out with a camera crew and tell me I'm on one of those feel-good reality shows.
"Christ, do people here actually live like this, or is it just for show?" I mutter, peering into a bakery window at the mountain of pastries that could give my LA diet a run for its money.
Axel grins, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that way that does things to me I don't want to analyze right now. "Welcome to small-town charm. No smog, no traffic jams—just pie contests and probably a knitting club."
