“Couldn't stay away.” He pulled back to see my face. “This is real, Dusty. The partnership, the gallery, us. All of it.”
I looked into his eyes, saw the certainty there, the love that matched what was expanding in my chest. “Yeah. It's real.”
We cleaned up slow, got dressed, neither wanting to break the moment. When we were clothed again, Cord pulled me back into his arms, just holding me in the afternoon light.
“When do you want to see the building?” he asked.
“As soon as possible.” Then I stopped, my hand resting on his chest. “But I told them that I’d work until the end of the season, so that’s Christmas. I need to request time off.”
“Take a couple weeks if you can. We need time to handle the partnership paperwork, meet with the realtor, start planning renovations.” His hand found mine, fingers interlacing. “We've got a lot to figure out.” He kissed my forehead. “And I've got champagne in my room. We should celebrate.”
I grabbed the iPad, my sketchbook, the partnership documents. “Yeah. Let's go celebrate.”
We walked hand in hand across the courtyard as afternoon shifted toward evening. Guests lounged by the pools, companions moved between buildings, the familiar rhythm of The Ranch continuing around us. I'd been part of it for seven years. It had given me so much—a home when I needed one, work that mattered, the space to figure out who I was. But looking at Cord, at our hands linked together, at the partnership documents tucked under my arm, I knew it was time for something new.
We stepped into the elevator, and the familiar space felt charged with possibility instead of uncertainty.
“So,” he said as the doors closed. “We're doing this.”
“Building a gallery. Running a guest house. Being business partners.” I turned to face him, both of us leaning against opposite walls of the small space.
“And the other thing.” He squeezed my hand. “The us thing.”
“Yeah.” I squeezed back, looking into his eyes as the elevator climbed. “The scary, wonderful, life-changing us thing.”
The elevator slowed, and I sensed the weight of the moment. Not just tonight, but everything that came after. Tomorrow we'd start making calls, signing papers, planning a future neither of us could have imagined when we first met. But right now, in this small ascending space, it was just us and the choice we'd made to build something beautiful together.
The doors opened on the fourth floor, and we stepped out into the hallway, walking toward his suite, toward champagne and sunset and all the futures we were going to create. Starting tomorrow. Starting now. Starting with love.
Chapter Eighteen
Cord
I woke to find Dusty already awake, propped on one elbow, watching me with an expression that made my heart stop. Morning light filtered through the windows, painting stripes across the rumpled sheets, across his bare shoulder, across the soft smile playing at his lips.
“How long have you been awake?” My voice came out rough with sleep.
“A while.” His finger traced the line of my collarbone, feather-light and intimate. “Just thinking.”
“About?”
“About how we spent yesterday afternoon wrapped up in each other instead of being practical and planning.” His smile widened. “And how I don't regret a single minute of it.”
Yesterday was like a dream, finding each other again after weeks apart, reconnecting in ways that went beyond physical. We'd made love twice more, ordered room service we barely touched, talked until our voices grew hoarse.
“Best use of an afternoon I can think of.” I pulled him down for a kiss.
When we broke apart, he settled against my chest, fitting there like he belonged. Outside, The Ranch was waking up.
“We should probably be productive today,” Dusty murmured against my skin. “Actually sign those partnership papers.”
“Probably.” I ran my fingers through his hair, still mussed from sleep. “But not yet.”
We stayed like that for another few minutes, just breathing together. The partnership documents waited on the coffee table, untouched in favor of more important reconnections.
We showered together, less about sex and more about the intimacy of washing each other's backs, sharing space, the casual domesticity of it. Then made coffee and ordered breakfast from room service.
“So,” I said as we settled at the small dining table with eggs and toast. “Vincent said we could use his office to call the lawyer. Ready to make this official?”
