Page 166 of Neap & Spring

“I can’t do this.” His voice breaks on the words. “I can’t sit back and give you space and pretend I’m okay with you carrying all of this by yourself. Not when we already lost five years. Not when I love you so fucking much it feels like drowning when we are apart.”

My breath catches in my throat.

The words hang in the air between us.

Then, he’s crossing the room in long strides that eat up the distance between us, his hands are framing my face, and he’s kissing me.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Vivienne

It’s desperate and fierce and years of missing each other compressed into one moment. His mouth is demanding and urgent, like he’s trying to say everything he can’t find words for. His hands are shaking slightly where they cup my jaw, his thumbs brushing across my cheekbones with a tenderness that contrasts with the hunger in his kiss.

I’m already reaching for him, my fingers curling into his soaked jacket, pulling him closer even though he’s drenched and cold and getting me wet. I don’t care. I don’t care about anything except the fact that he’s here. He came for me. He drove through a storm because he couldn’t stand the thought of me being alone.

He tastes like rain and salt and coming home.

He kisses me like he’s been drowning and I’m air.

His hands are still framing my face, and I can feel him trembling from restraint.

When he finally pulls back, we’re both breathing hard. His forehead rests against mine, his eyes are closed, water from his hair drips onto my face.

“I love you,” he says, the words rough and raw. “I’ve loved you since Paris, and I never stopped. Not for a single day. Not when you disappeared. Not when I tried to convince myself I was over it. Not ever.”

My heart is hammering so hard it hurts.

“I know you need time. I know you’re still processing everything. But I need you to know.” His eyes open, finding mine, and the intensity in them makes my breath catch. “I’m not going anywhere. However long it takes, whatever you need, I’m here. Always.”

“I love you too,” I say, and my voice breaks on the words. “I loved you in Paris. I loved you when I was working in London and Boston and every city after. I loved you through every restaurant I consulted for and every hotel room I stayed in and every morning when I woke up alone.”

Tears are streaming down my face now. “I loved you even when I made the decision that broke us both. Even when I thought I was doing the right thing by disappearing. Even when I convinced myself you’d be better off without me.”

I cup his face in my hands, feeling the scrape of his scruff against my palm, making sure he hears every word. “I’ve been looking for you in every kitchen for five years, Callum. And I finally found you. I’m finally home.”

Relief and joy and desire all tangle together, erupting across his face.

And then he’s kissing me again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against mine, claiming me. His hands slide from my face down to my waist, pulling me flush against him. I make a sound against his mouth and feel him respond, his grip tightening.

The cottage groans around us. The wind screams. Water pours through the broken window and the damaged roof.

Callum breaks the kiss long enough to look at me, his eyes dark with want.

“Bedroom,” he groans, his voice rough. “Now.”

Before I can respond, he’s bending down, one arm behind my knees, the other around my back, and he lifts me like I weigh nothing.

I gasp, my arms coming around his neck automatically. “Cal! This whole place is one strong gust away from coming down.”

“The bedroom’s an add-on.” He’s already moving, navigating around the broken glass with ease, his voice steady. “It’s poured concrete foundation with reinforced roof joists. Built to a different code than the rest of this place. It’s the most structurally sound room in the cottage and the safest place we can be right now.” His eyes drop to mine, dark and certain. “And I’m going to make sure you don’t even notice the storm.”

I stare at him. “How do you even know all that?”

The corner of his mouth curves up beneath his mustache. “Small town.” Then the smirk softens into something hungrier, his eyes dropping to my mouth. “Vivi, it is genuinely very difficult to think about load-bearing walls when all I want to do is ravish you against them.”

I laugh. “Okay. Okay, I trust you.”

“I’ve got you.” He kicks the bedroom door open with his boot and carries me inside, setting me down gently on the edge of the bed. “I’ve always got you.”