Without another word, he opens the sketchbook and pencil scratches across the page. Rather than pushing anymore and demanding I make a decision right this second, he accepts that I need to move at my own pace. He chooses to stay close. Show up. And somehow, that might be the most romantic thing anyone has ever done.
I open my laptop and bury myself in legal contracts and client briefs; the endless paperwork between companies fighting for more money and control. The space is quiet with just our tools and even breathing, working our respective trades. When my last email is sent, the soft click of my laptop closing startles James. He flushes, realizing I’m watching.
“What are you working on?” I ask, tilting my head to the side.
“Nothing.” He snaps the sketchbook closed, hesitates, fingers grazing the edge. “Actually... here. You can look. I usually sketch the buildings I’m working on. But lately...”
My hands shake as I hold the still-warm linen cover and open to the first page. It’s me, lying on a couch, reading. The ski lodge—the first day we spent together. The next page is me too, standing outside, looking up at the sky as snow falls, before I told him I wasn’t an option.
Page after page. Moments from the last few years, each one a confession he couldn’t say out loud.
The last is incomplete: the beginnings of me sitting here, one hand beneath my chin, brow furrowed in concentration, laptop on my legs. He started drawing this moment while I was sitting across from him, trying to keep my heart from skipping out of my chest.
Years of beingseen—a record of something I’ve longed to believe but never dared trust.
“You drewme,” I say aloud.
“Yeah, I did.”
When I lift my eyes, tears blur the room’s edges, but I don’t hide them. I don’t blink them back or stop him from seeing how undone I am. My fingers graze the curve of the page, as if to test its reality. I’ve replayed these memories over and over. But he didn’t just remember, he made them permanent.
He mademepermanent.
Heavy footsteps on the stairs jolt me back to reality. I slide the sketchbook beneath my laptop and wipe the corners of my eyes. Mason stops at the bottom step. He pauses, taking in the scene: the flush in my cheeks and James leaning forward, body angled toward mine. Ivy has interrupted us before. But Mason?This is the first time he’s stepped into the charged hum of something too heavy to be casual.
He clears his throat. “Anna still napping?”
“Yeah. She’ll be up soon.” My voice comes out calm, unaffected—despite my world being flipped inside out.
“What happened to your necklace?” Mason’s eyes land on the bare space at my throat.
“The chain broke. I’ll have to get it fixed.” I meet his eyes and don’t look away.
“I see.” His tone is even, but the silence that follows is thick.
“I was catching up on some work. You heading to the gym?”
“Interesting. Seems counterintuitive to work on vacation, especially after scaling back so much.”
“I do what is needed.”
“Good to know yourprioritiesare in order.” The words land hard. His eyes flick from me to James. “Ivy was looking for you. Better go find your fiancée.”
Neither man moves—hard blue eyes locked on fierce green. They hold until Mason breaks. His footsteps echo, each one louder than the last, until the gym door slams behind him.
The reverberation fades and I ask, “What are you thinking?”
“You want the truth?” He asks, but the words spill out before I can answer. “I look at you, and it feels like I can’t breathe. I want you so badly it scrambles my thoughts, makes it impossible to focus when you’re near.” He draws in a shaky breath, his always-steady shoulders dipping under the weight. “It destroys me every time I see you vanish behind his eyes, like you’re folding yourself away to survive.”
He closes the distance between us in two quiet steps and sinks to his knees. His warm, calloused palms cradle my face in trembling hands.
“You have all the power here,” he whispers, his voice barely brushing my skin. I smell the coffee on his breath, the cedar in his cologne. “I’m on my knees, asking you to trust me.”
Something shifts in my chest.
A wall begins to crumble.
A long-locked door creaks open.
