She brushed her thumb along my jaw, her touch slow, deliberate.
“Take me to your home,” she said quietly. “And make sure I don’t regret the trip.”
For a moment, I couldn’t move. The weight of what she was asking hit me like the wind outside—sudden, powerful, undeniable.
I searched her face for hesitation, but all I found was determination, bright and steady as a flame.
“Mel,” I said, my voice rough, “you have no idea what you’re doing to me right now.”
“Oh, I think I do.”
I laughed softly, shaking my head. “You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
And that was it. The last thread of restraint snapped.
I grabbed my coat from behind the bar, shrugged it on, and took her hand.
“Come on,” I said, my heart thudding fast. “Before I start thinking too hard about this.”
She smiled, that mischievous curve that always made me feel like I was walking into trouble on purpose. “That’s the spirit.”
Outside, the wind had calmed a little, snowflakes drifting lazily under the lamplight. I locked the door behind us, the faint glow of the tavern fading into the background as we walked across the lot. Her boots crunched softly on the snow, and she leaned into me, her shoulder brushing mine.
“Was it everything you imagined?” I asked quietly.
“What?”
“The drive. The arrival. The reckless part.”
She tilted her head, her breath visible in the cold air. “Ask me again tomorrow morning.”
I chuckled, squeezing her hand tighter as we reached the truck.
“Deal,” I said, laughing wickedly.
When we climbed inside, she turned to me, eyes glinting in the dim dashboard light. “You still look shocked.”
“I am,” I admitted. “But I’m not complaining.”
“Good,” she said, and leaned across the seat to kiss me again—slow this time, sure, like a promise.
As I started the engine and pulled out onto the snowy road toward my cabin, I glanced over at her. She was watching the falling snow, a small smile playing on her lips.
Maybe I was still dreaming.
Maybe I’d wake up tomorrow and she’d be gone again.
But for now, she was here.
And that was enough.
The snow thickened outside, swirling around us like the world was closing in just for the two of us. And somewhere between the bar lights fading behind us and the road stretching out ahead, I realized I didn’t care how she got here—only that she had.
“Welcome back to Reckless River,” I said quietly.
She turned to me, eyes soft. “It’s good to be back.”
