She smiled and pulled two mugs from the cabinet. Chamomile. She dropped bags into both, then turned and leaned back against the counter beside me. Our shoulders touched. She didn’t move away.
I turned toward her, cupped her face with both hands. “I’m going to be here for everything. All of it.”
“I know.” Her eyes searched mine. “But I’m still scared. Not of recording—I’ve done that a hundred times. I’m scared of what happens after. What if it’s not enough? What if they just push harder?”
“Then we push back harder.” I brushed my thumbs along her cheekbones. “You’re not the only one who’s going to fight for this place. Aggie’s in. I’m in. Harper, Jude, my entire family, Matt—they’re all going to be in. And the people in those trailers, andthe town? Once they hear your voice asking the right questions, they’ll be in too.”
She closed her eyes for a second, leaned into my touch. “You make it sound simple.”
“It’s not simple. It’s just true.”
The kettle clicked off. She opened her eyes, gave me a small, grateful smile, and turned to pour the water. Steam curled up between us. She handed me a mug, wrapped her hands around her own, and we stood there hip to hip, sipping in silence while the chamomile cooled.
Eventually, she set her mug down, took mine from my hand, and set it beside hers. Then she stepped into me, arms sliding around my waist, face pressing to my chest. I wrapped her up immediately—chin resting on the top of her head, hands stroking slow circles on her back.
“Thank you,” she whispered against my shirt. “For being here. For not trying to talk me out of it. For just being you. My best friend. And now?—”
I kissed her hair. “There’s nowhere else I’d be. I’ve been waiting forever to be right here.”
She smiled and led me to the bedroom. We didn’t rush. Didn’t tear at clothes. Just peeled them off slowly, piece by piece, like unwrapping something precious. When we were bare, she pulled back the covers and slid in. I followed, pulling her against me, chest to chest, legs tangled, her head tucked under my chin.
I ran my fingers through her hair, slow and steady, the way I’d wanted to for years. She sighed, melting into me, one hand resting over my heart.
“I feel safe with you,” she said quietly. “Like I can breathe all the way down to the bottom of my lungs.”
I kissed her forehead. “You can.”
She pressed closer, nose against my throat. “I’m going to do this. Hopefully, enough people will hear it and care enough to start keeping an eye on their neighbors.”
I tightened my arms around her.
She lifted her head, kissed me—slow, tender, tasting faintly of chamomile and trust. I kissed her back the same way, hands gentle on her back, her hips, her hair.
But then she shifted, rolling half on top of me, her bare thigh sliding between mine. Her mouth found the hollow of my throat, lips brushing soft, then pressing firmer, a quiet claim. My breath caught. I felt her smile against my skin.
“Becca…” My voice was low, rough with everything I was trying to keep gentle.
She lifted her head just enough to meet my eyes in the dim lamplight. “I want to feel you tonight,” she whispered. “Slow. Just us. I want to remember every second of this before everything happens.”
I searched her face—saw the quiet need there, the trust, the faint shimmer in her eyes that said she was asking for more than pleasure. She was asking for proof that this was real, that I wasn’t going anywhere, that whatever storm was coming wouldn’t wash this away. My heart squeezed so hard it hurt.
“Anything you want,” I murmured, voice thick. “Always.”
I rolled us carefully so she was beneath me again, weight braced on my forearms. We kissed deeper now—still slow, but with a little more heat building under the tenderness. Her hands roamed my back, nails grazing lightly, then sliding down to grip my hips and pull me closer. I settled between her thighs, already hard for her again, the thick length of me resting against her slick heat.
She reached down between us, wrapped her fingers around me, stroked once, twice, making me groan low in my throat. Then she paused, hand stilling.
“Condom,” she whispered, voice soft but certain. “I want to feel you, but I want to be careful too.”
I nodded, kissed her again, then leaned over the side of the bed, fishing in the drawer of her bedside table. I pulled out the foil packet, tore it open with my teeth, and rolled it on with steady hands, even though my pulse was hammering. She watched me the whole time, eyes dark and trusting, fingers tracing my forearm like she was memorizing the feel of me.
When I was covered, I settled back between her thighs, braced above her. I kissed her again, then nudged at her entrance, waiting.
“Look at me,” she breathed.
I did. Held her gaze as I pushed in—slow, careful, inch by careful inch—watching every flicker across her face. Her eyes fluttered closed for a second, lips parting on a soft gasp as I filled her completely. We both stilled for a moment, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other in.
She lifted her hips in a slow roll that made me groan low in my throat. “I used to lie awake,” she whispered, “wondering what it would feel like if you ever touched me like this. If you ever looked at me the way you’re looking at me now. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t stop. I never thought I could have something like this, like you.”
