Page 25

Lark

Back at Axel’s Cabin, Frasier Mountain

T here’s something humbling about needing help to get off a couch you didn’t ask to lie on.

I shifted under the quilt, irritated by how much my ribs ached and how the dull throb in my head still made the world tilt if I moved too quickly. The storm was days behind me now, but it continued to echo in my bones.

Axel moved through the kitchen barefoot, warm and silent. His presence filled the room like gravity—impossible to ignore. He set a steaming mug beside me without a word. Chamomile. I didn’t even have to ask.

“You’re staring,” I said.

“You’re beautiful when you’re grumpy.”

“You’re delusional.”

His lips twitched. “That’s been established a long time ago.”

I chuckled as I sipped the tea and let the silence stretch. It wasn’t awkward. It was just… full.

I glanced at him. “You’re not going to bubble wrap me, are you?”

“Tempting.”

“Axel.”

He turned, his eyes steady. “I’m not going to treat you like glass, Lark. But I almost lost you. I need a minute.”

I set the cup down and reached for his hand, tugging him closer. “Come sit.”

He hesitated, like maybe he was afraid to touch me. Then he sat beside me—slowly, carefully. His arm brushed mine, and it felt like a jolt straight to my chest.

“You’ve been quiet since the hospital,” I said.

“You’ve been hurt.”

“I’ve also been awake. Mostly. And very bored.”

That earned a smile. “You’re the worst patient.”

“You love it.”

He didn’t answer, but he leaned in, brushing his thumb lightly over the bandage on my temple. His touch was feather-soft, reverent.

“You scare me,” he murmured.

“Because I chase tornadoes?”

“Because you own me. And I don’t know what the hell to do with that.”

I leaned in. “You hold on tight.”

His lips hovered near mine, breath warm. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then kiss me slow.”

And he did.

God, he did.

There was nothing rushed in the way his mouth met mine—just heat and patience and the kind of hunger that came with weeks of missed chances. His fingers curled gently into my hair, the other hand anchoring at my waist, pulling me closer inch by inch.

I moved with him, careful but greedy, hands sliding beneath his shirt just to feel skin and strength. When we finally parted, breathless and tangled, I rested my forehead against his and whispered, “Okay. That was worth surviving for.”

He chuckled, low and rough. “Good. Because I’m not finished with you.”