By the time I finished the last call, my hands were shaking. Not from anxiety, exactly, but from the accumulated weight of letting down people who'd believed in me. The gallery hadn't just been my dream. It had been a promise to artists who deserved better than commercial galleries that only showed safe, sellable work.
I taught two yoga sessions that afternoon, moving through the poses on autopilot. My body demonstrated proper alignment while my mind stayed stuck on phone calls and broken promises. More than one student asked if I was feeling okay. I told them I was just tired.
The sun was starting its descent toward the western hills when I finally worked up the courage to walk across the courtyard to Cord's suite. Each step was like crossing a minefield, bringing me closer to a conversation that could change everything between us.
Simple words that made my chest twist with guilt. He was excited to see me while I was falling apart over problems that probably seemed trivial compared to his career-ending injury and public scrutiny. While I was breaking every professional rule I'd ever made about emotional attachment to clients.
I stopped outside his door, hand raised to knock, and realized I was terrified. Not of his reaction to my problems, but of how much his reaction mattered to me. When had he become someone whose opinion could make or break my sense of self-worth?
This is what falling in love feels like. Completely fucking terrifying.
I knocked before I could change my mind.
“Dusty?” His voice carried surprised pleasure mixed with relief. “Thank God. I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”
He opened the door wearing only jeans and a smile that made my chest tight with affection and guilt. His hair was messed up like he'd been running his hands through it, and there were papers scattered across the coffee table behind him.
“Sorry,” I said, taking in the organized chaos of his suite. “I know we haven't talked much since—”
“Since the cabin,” he finished, reaching for me before I'd even stepped inside. “I've missed you. Come here.”
His hands found my waist, pulling me against him like he'd been storing up need for days. I should have been drowning in this—his mouth hungry against mine, his fingers already working under my shirt. Instead, I was floating just outside myself, my body responding on autopilot while my head stayed stuck in conference rooms and broken promises.
“God, I've been going crazy,” he murmured against my lips, walking me backward into his suite and kicking the door closed. “I keep thinking about the cabin, about how good you felt—”
His hands were everywhere, sliding under my shirt, mapping my ribs and spine like he was trying to memorize me. I could feel the desperate edge in his touch, but my body wasn't responding the way it should.
“I leave tomorrow,” he said, his voice rough. “I know we said no expectations, but fuck, Dusty, I don't want to go.”
I should have been present for this. Should have been matching his intensity, lost in the same desperate need that was driving his hands and mouth. Instead, I felt like I was watching from outside myself, my body responding automatically whilemy mind cataloged all the ways I was failing him. My hands moved over his skin, clumsy and uncertain.
His touch was reverent, careful, full of longing that I should have been drowning in. “Dusty,” he sighed, pushing my shirt up and pressing hot kisses to my collarbone. “I've been thinking about you constantly. About us. About what comes next.”
Fuck. He was making plans around a version of me that didn't exist anymore, falling for someone who'd had his life together enough to open an art gallery, to be worth relocating for.
“Cord,” I started, but he silenced me with another kiss, deeper this time, his hands tangling in my hair.
“Whatever it is, we can talk about it later,” he said against my mouth. “Right now I just need you.”
His words should have undone me. Instead, they highlighted how much I was holding back, how my hands on his shoulders were steadying rather than exploring, how my kisses were answering his passion rather than matching it. I was performing intimacy while drowning in secrets, and the dissonance made everything feel fragile and false.
And God help me, I let him guide me deeper into the suite, knowing I should stop this, should tell him the truth before we went any further. But the alternative was watching the want in his eyes turn to pity, seeing him realize that the man he'd been missing was just another person whose dreams had crumbled at the first real test. So I kissed him back and pretended I was fully present, pretended my heart wasn't breaking for reasons he didn't even know existed yet. As he pulled me toward the bedroom, his hand warm and sure in mine, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was stealing something from him, this moment, this connection, this version of me that would disappear the moment I told him the truth.
Tomorrow he'd leave, and maybe that was better. Maybe it was kinder to let him remember the man I'd been at the cabin, before everything fell apart.
Chapter Fourteen
Cord
I'd been awake for maybe twenty minutes, just watching Dusty breathe. The suite was quiet except for the hum of the air conditioning and distant laughter in the hallway. My shoulder ached, that dull throb reminding me surgery was looming Tuesday. But I'd learned to let pain sit in the background instead of consuming everything.
Last night had been... different. Not bad, but something had been off. The way Dusty had kissed me back without quite being present, the way his hands had moved over my skin like he was going through motions instead of being in the moment. I'd chalked it up to whatever family crisis he was dealing with, figured he just needed time to decompress. But lying here in the morning light, watching the tension that hadn't left his face even in sleep, I knew it was more than that.
What mattered was this: Dusty's warmth against my side, his hand resting on my chest, the way his hair was still messed up from where I'd run my fingers through it. We'd found our way back to each other after those few days apart, and fuck if thatdidn't feel like something worth holding onto. Even if something was clearly wrong.
He stirred, those blue eyes opening slowly before focusing on me. A smile curved his lips, sleepy and genuine, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. That hollow look from last night was still there, lurking underneath.
“Morning,” he murmured.
