I trace her cheek with my thumb, dragging it down to the hollow of her delicate throat. “You’ll be okay, Bell.”
She nods, closing her eyes.
For a long second, silence. Then she sighs out, “I like your scruff, cowboy.”
“You do, huh?” I chuckle. There’s not a day Bellamy doesn’t surprise me.
“Yes,” she confesses, burrowing deeper into my lap. “It’s very handsome.”
A smirk ghosts my lips. “Hell, sugar, remind me to never shave again.”
“I can do that.”
Wriggling, she inches an arm out of the blanket and finds my hand. My heart hammers as she curls her slender fingers around mine.
“Thank you for coming for me,” she murmurs. “For finding me.”
I swallow the emotions that claw at my throat. “There’s not a chance in hell I’d let you go again.”
Bellamymmms, a sweet, soft sound. She’s nodding off, the slow rise and fall of her chest signaling sleep is near.
My heart clenches. God, do I love her.
Zelda, content that we’re okay, circles her dog bed twice, then curls into a ball, head on her paws, eyes on us.
I look down at Bellamy’s sleeping face. Her lips, rosy and parted, push out slow, rhythmic breaths. My heart rate slows, matching hers, following the steady, calming beat.
I should move. Get her dressed, tear myself away from her. But I don’t. I can’t. Not when she’s tucked in my arms, fragile and soft.
So I allow myself this moment with her. Do what I should have done when we lost our baby.
I stay.
When I wake later, from a sleep so deep it feels like years have passed, my attention lands on the mantel.
On the stockings hanging above the fireplace.
I blow out a deep breath and run my fingertips over the delicate curve of Bellamy’s cheek. Together, like we’re meant to be.
A tiny flame of hope ignites inside me.
No more waiting. Tomorrow I’ll work up the courage to tell her everything.
DECEMBER 22ND
Sunlight warms my cheek, slowly pulling me from the deep, hazy edge of sleep.
I squint one eye open, smiling at the golden glow. Cozy like this, burritoed in thick quilts and blankets, I never want to move again.
It takes a moment for my mind to come online and register that I’m up in the loft.
How the hell did Hank get me up here?
An image of a sexy cowboy fireman-carrying me up the ladder floats through my mind, making my cheeks heat. Damn if that doesn’t uproot the swoon in my heart.
Last night when Hank undressed me, I was so fixated on getting warm, staying alive that I didn’t consider what we were doing. I got naked. With my ex. Worse, we almost kissed.
I don’t know if that’s first or third base.
