Meadow lets out a humorless laugh. “God, no. I mean, I’m thankful to have a stable job, but…” she trails off. “Ever since I can remember, I’ve wanted to write fiction.”
“Yeah?”
“Romance, specifically,” she admits shyly. “But since getting published feels like finding a needle in a haystack, I’d have to start as an indie author,” she exhales, looking down at her drink. “I don’t know, maybe someday I’ll try writing a novel in my free time, but there’s no way it could pay my bills. It’s kind of just a pipe dream, I guess.”
“It doesn’t have to be a pipe dream,” I disagree, shaking my head.
She stares back at me, looking perplexed but intrigued.
“I’m serious,” I deadpan. “If anyone can do it, it’s you. You work your ass off—harder than anyone I know. You’re disciplined, smart, and you don’t quit when things get hard.”
Her gaze stays locked on mine, hanging on to my every word.
“Would it be a challenge? Yeah,” I admit. “But I have no doubt you could do both if you wanted. And if you ever decided to go all in…” I shrug. “I’d bet on you every time.”
Her face relaxes, shifting from surprise to tenderness, as if she’s not used to having someone truly believe in her.
“Thank you, Owen,” she rasps. “That really means a lot.” She pauses, then smiles to herself. “Maybe I will start my own story soon. I don’t know, just to see where it goes. It could be a fun hobby in my free time.”
“Good,” I reply without missing a beat. “You should. You deserve to give yourself that chance, Meadow.”
When her eyes lift to mine, they’re full of gratitude.
For the first time in a long time, a spark of confidence dances in her gaze. I’ve always thought of Meadow as the most self-assured, badass woman I know, but unfortunately, it's obvious that she doesn't see herself in that same light.
Even if this thing between us never goes any further—even if she just stays my friend until the end of time, I’ll still make it my mission, every single day, to see this look on her face. To know that she believes in herself just as much as I do.
Even if I’m the man she never falls for, I’ll always be the one standing beside her.
ELEVEN
Meadow
“Owen…” I moan into the dark morning as my hand works viciously between my legs.
His name slips out on instinct, quiet enough that only I can hear. Owen’s asleep in the other room, and the last thing I want is for him to know how desperately I need him.
All I’ve been able to think about is what he said at dinner last night.
The intensity in Owen’s gaze when he looked at me from across the table, not a doubt in his mind when he said I should pursue writing. He made me feel like I could do something meaningful with my talent, not just work for a corporate machine where my manager treats me like shit.
And somehow, that’s hotter than anything else Owen’s ever said or done.
Sexier than the flirting and the teasing.
Just the simple fact that he believes in me.
It sparked a new fire in my chest, one that refuses to die down, burning right alongside every other feeling Owen has managed to wake in me.
Which is how I ended up here, at five-thirty in the morning, with my hand between my thighs, unable to get him out of my head.
My eyes roll back as his heart-stopping grin flashes through my head.
“Mmm,” I hum, rolling my hips.
When I think about Owen’s broad chest and sculpted arms, my stomach muscles stretch and tighten.
I bite down on my bottom lip as I picture the dark trail of hair that starts beneath his defined abs, disappearing behind his swim trunks like a daring invitation.
