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The words tasted like truth and adrenaline on my tongue. Saying it aloud shattered something quiet and timid in me. Formonths, maybe years, I’d kept that piece of me tucked away—safe from disappointment, from heartbreak. But looking into his eyes now, I wasn’t only ready to take a risk. Ineededto.

“I want you Brooks. And I don’t mean just tonight. I mean... I want to see where this goes between us. But I’m a little scared of it where this can lead.”

“I’m more afraid of what we’d miss if we didn’t.” He leaned in, brushing his lips against my temple. “Let’s get out of here.”

We slipped out into the cool spring air together, the music fading behind us.

14

BOOTS OFF

MAISY

The door clicked softlybehind us. Brooks turned on a bedside lamp, revealing the cozy warmth of Richard’s one-room guest house. The space was modest by Buchanan standards, but no less beautiful—oak floors, exposed beams, and a fireplace crackling low in the corner. A plush bed dominated the center of the room, with fluffy blue linens, and the faint scent of cedar lingered in the air. Outside, rain tapped gently against the windows like music meant just for us and this fateful moment.

“Boots off?” he kicked his away and patted his thigh. I placed one foot there, and he slid the boot off for me, then repeated with the other. I’d barely taken two steps away before Brooks reached for me, his fingers brushing mine, tentative and hot like he was asking permission—and also like he already knew the answer. My chest rose and fell faster, but I wasn’t nervous. Not exactly. It was something else. A breathless mix of heat and certainty that had been simmering under my skin since the barn.

And it was time.

His hands framed my face, and he kissed me—slow, sure, deep enough to dissolve every last trace of logic I had left.

“You sure about this?” he whispered against my lips.

I nodded, pressing my forehead to his. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

He exhaled a shaky breath. “Good. Because I’m not sure I could let you walk out that door again.”

“I can’t let you go, either.” I tugged at the hem of his shirt, slipping my hands beneath it to feel the warm skin stretched over muscle. “Let’s call it a mutual captivity situation.”

He chuckled. “I always liked the way you think, Mais. That incredible mind of yours.”

His shirt hit the floor. He helped me out of mine and it followed, bra, too. And as we reached the edge of the bed, his hands shimmied my jeans down my legs. Something shifted inside of me—a fierce, beautiful realization that this man wasn’t a maybe anymore. He wasn’t a someday. He was here, now, and I wanted all of him.

He eased me down onto the mattress like I was something precious, his eyes sweeping over every inch of me with reverence and something deeper—something that felt terrifyingly close to love.

“You know,” I murmured as his mouth traced a slow path up my body until he hovered over me, “I always assumed the architect thing was just a bonus.”

“Oh, yeah?” he breathed against my skin. “And now?”

“Now I’m thinking I should’ve let you redesign me a long time ago.”

He smiled, eyes dark with want. “Babe, I’ve been drawing you in my head for years.”

I arched toward him. “So let’s stop imagining it.”

His hand skimmed down my thigh, trailing fire in its wake. “You’re my favorite blueprint, Maisy Calhoun. Every damn curve.”

I could barely breathe.

“You know what I want?” he asked, his voice rough.

“Me?”

“Yes. And to take my time.”

“Good,” I said, my fingers diving into the back of his jeans. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

He paused just long enough to press a kiss over my heart—gentle, like he was imprinting the moment into memory. His lips lingered there, and I felt the warmth ripple through my chest, a rush of affection and promise I hadn’t dared to believe in.