When the Heart Falls(140)

All thoughts of seduction evaporate, and when I sit next to him, it’s to offer comfort not foreplay. We sit in silence, watching the flames.

When he speaks, his voice is rough. "I'm sorry I worried you earlier. I can't lose this hat." He strokes the brim with his thumb.

"I know."

"But I should have explained it better. This hat was my brother’s, but it wasn't Stevie's."

My heart clenches. "So you have—"

"Another brother. Peter. We called him Pete."

Called. Past tense. "Where is he now?"

"He died.” He says this without emotion, as if pronouncing that the rain had stopped or he was hungry. For a moment, Cade’s face is as empty as his voice, like it was in the rain. But it passes like a storm cloud, and I can see when he comes back to me.

I take his hand and say the words that are never enough. "I'm sorry.” If ever a writer should have a larger arsenal than others, it is now, in times of grief and sorrow. As magical as words can be, it is times such as this that prove how weak they really are.

For words cannot stand in the presence of grief.

He reaches for me, and as his tears burn hot on my shoulder, I give him what he needs more than my words. I give him my empathy. And together we weep for losses we have both felt, for pain we have both known.

When we share in each other’s grief and pain, we lighten it. Or maybe we just give each other permission to feel it fully and, through that act of acceptance, the grief becomes more bearable.

Because like the rain, tears too have an end. And with deep emotions, we are open to each other in unexpected ways.

As his tears dry on my shoulder, his kisses replace them, leading up my neck and to my mouth.

My towel falls away, and I am naked before him, vulnerable in a way I’ve never been with anyone, not even Rodney.

Panic grips me, but I push it aside, and face the self-consciousness I wasn't expecting but should have. I've never been naked in front of anyone, not since I was a child. Every flaw on my body feels circled in marker and highlighted, but, looking into his eyes, I can tell he doesn't see any of them. His gaze is loving, kind, and full of desire.

He breathes in at the sight of me, moving his eyes over my body in a caress that sends chills up my spine. I don’t want to tarnish this moment, but I don’t want to hide any part of me either. “Before we do this. There are things about me you don’t know. Things I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about.”

His hands land on my hips as he silences me with a kiss, then pulls back to look into my eyes. “There will always be things we have to learn about each other. Those secrets don’t all have to be revealed tonight.”

I know, then, that there is more to his story as well, but we will share our deeper pains another day. For now, we share our bodies, our hearts, our souls.





WINTER DEVEAUX

CHAPTER 21





I WAKE UP in his arms, his chest pressed against my back, our legs intertwined. We’re naked, and my morning breath embarrasses me, but he’s still asleep, the sound of his breathing light and soothing. Taking care not to wake him, I slip out of bed, rush through my normal morning routine and stoke the fire we left on all night. It’s a chilly morning, the windows still wet from the storm, and I don warmer clothes and, laptop in hand, sneak back into bed to write while enjoying the nearness of him.

Last night changed me, woke up some dormant part of my soul and remade me into something new. I’m not the girl I was before, not the girl who fears intimacy and the touch of a man. Not the girl who pulls away when someone gets too close.

My blood boils hot, like any other healthy woman, and I love it. I love this feeling, and I love him.

The man sleeping next to me.

The man who helped me cross my darkest chasm into the brightest light.

But it’s too soon for love, isn’t it? That’s what people would say. Except, the heart feels what it feels. He’s become a part of me. Our daily study sessions and walks through Paris. Our hours and hours talking about nothing and everything. Our night, together, exposed and accepted by each other.

My laptop comes alive, and I finally know how to write romance, how to write love, passion, and all the things that make life worth living.

The chapters fly out of me, my fingers moving over the keys so fast I’m not even reading my own words, just writing the song that’s in my heart.

As another chapter ends, I pause, looking at Cade, gliding a finger over his face, feeling the heat of his skin, the stubble on his chin. Words tumble out of me in a whisper.

"She opened herself to him, and, in that moment, she opened herself to the world. Let it hurt her. Let it burn her veins, boil her blood and scorch her heart. For where there could be pain, there could be pleasure and love. She would be cold no longer. She would melt the hearts of others, and in turn, they would melt hers. She would feel the full spectrum of emotions and cry. She would be human. And she would be happy."

My finger slides down his lips and then back to my keyboard, and I capture those words on my screen.



We spend the morning in bed, reliving the best memories of the night before and making a few new ones. By late morning we’re both starving, and so we dress—bummer—and enjoy breakfast on the patio of our hotel. Everything feels brighter, more alive, today; even the food tastes more amazing.