Page 143 of When Love Takes Root

The room brightened by slow degrees. Morning moved across the floor, catching the edge of his discarded shirt, my purple sandals near the bed, the note still sitting on the nightstand. Somewhere outside, a bird started singing like it had no respect for emotional privacy.

I rested my cheek against his chest and listened to his heartbeat.

His hand moved slowly along my back, palm wide and warm, following the length of my spine like he was smoothing soil back over exposed roots.

“Celeste.”

“Hmm?”

“I need to say something.”

I lifted my head.

His eyes were serious. “This doesn’t make you trapped here.”

Emotion rose fast.

He brushed his thumb along my jaw. “You don’t have to know what forever looks like today. You don’t have to explain this to anybody before you’re ready. You don’t have to turn what happened between us into pressure just because it was powerful.”

“It was powerful.”

“I know.”

I smiled softly. “You know?”

His mouth twitched. “I was present.” I pinched his side. He caught my hand and kissed my fingers. “I’m serious.”

“I know.”

“I’m not coming up off you. But I’m not holding you hostage either. I’m going to keep showing up, keep telling the truth, keep moving at the pace peace can survive.”

My chest warmed.

“And I meant what I said. You’re safe and secure with me. Always. I’m going to prove that before I ask you to believe me.”

I studied his face.

There were no perfect men. I knew that better than most. But there were men who understood that love was labor, not performance. Men who knew desire didn’t excuse carelessness. Men who could hold fire without throwing it at everything fragile.

Josiah Brooks looked like one of those men.

And God help me, I was falling.

Not stumbling.

Falling with my eyes open.

“I’m scared,” I whispered.

His hand slid over my back. “I know.”

“But I want you.”

His eyes softened. “I know that too.”

“I’m not ready to tell everybody.”

“We won’t.”