Page 13

13

LAUREL

As the fight ended, Laurel couldn’t help but gasp as several players were benched and put in the penalty box, and she saw Dustin move to the ice as Larsson was benched to give him a break. To her surprise, he skated toward her and collapsed in a smooth move to his knees, spinning on the ice a few times in a circle before coming to a stop before her… and looked like he was proposing.

She rose shakily to her feet as he pointed at her – and then made a heart with both his hands over his chest. Smiling, she made a heart back, and the crowd went wild around them as Kendall even let out an ‘awww’ at the sweet unexpected gesture.

Only to have Dustin turn around, pointing at his helmet. There, on the back, was a dragon sticker, and her mouth dropped open. He looked over his shoulder at her, winked, pointed at her, and then skated off to take his position at the goal.

“What in the world…” Laurel whispered shakily and then looked at Kendall – who shrugged. “Did you tell him?”

“He lives with us, and your library is full of your own books. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to guess you are the author. Um, yeah, and all your characters have those pretty blue eyes? I’m gonna say that your secret is out,” Kendall answered almost gleefully. “Now, whatcha gonna do?”

Laurel didn’t answer.

She couldn’t.

Frankly, she was stunned to realize that Dustin knew her books used him as a basis for a character that she had fantasized and dreamed of – and now knew it. If he knew, then that would explain his little comment about a ‘dragon sunning itself’ or why he’d kissed her so aggressively the first time he’d made a move toward her – but that had been two weeks ago.

He’d been so unfailingly polite and quiet, almost like he’d regretted the kiss and just wanted them to be friends. In fact, she’d had to start almost every kiss they’d shared in the last two weeks, including this morning’s kiss. She didn’t want to have to make the first move every time.

In fact, in her books, it was always the guy who made the first moves. The guy kissed the girl, he touched her, he took her, and in none of her books did the girl initiate things between them ever. When she said she needed to talk to him, that it wouldn’t be a quick discussion, it was because she was pretty sure something was broken between them.

And now he knew her secret?

That smile was not the expression of a man who was upset, nor was the sweet little cutesy-heart move that he’d made. Was he a romantic? Maybe he didn’t know how to handle girls? Maybe he was just… weird. She had read somewhere that goalies were weird, quiet loners.

What if it was true?

He seemed normal, a quiet person just like her, and they liked a lot of the same things, and she looked at Kendall.

“Am I weird?”

“You did not just ask me that, did you?”

“Well – am I?”

“Of course, you’re weird. You’re weird. I’m weird. He’s weird. They’re weird,” Kendall said openly, pointing at several other families nearby without hesitation. “I think hockey makes us all weirder-than-weird. I mean, we’re here in a cold arena watching guys beat each other up while trying to catch up to a puck on the ice – and your husband is the one who’s supposed to catch it by leaping on it, hitting it, or throwing himself bodily on it.”

Laurel hesitated, unsure what else to say. Her mind was reeling with the knowledge that Dustin somehow knew about her books, her thoughts about him, and everything her sister was pointing out was technically true. It was a weird life - and she loved it.

Watching the game, she saw the players making their way down the ice quickly amidst the hisses of skates sliding powerfully by aggressive men slamming their way toward the goalie.

Dustin.

Her husband was there, standing, waiting; his massive pads were leaned inward slightly at the knees, and she knew he was bracing himself for the puck to come sliding at breakneck speed toward his body. As she stared at him, she couldn’t help but think of those few classes they’d taken together at hot yoga, seeing him in a completely different light. It wasn’t just the movements or the pose. It was the way he held himself, each muscle tense and waiting – like a rubber band waiting to snap.

The man was a machine ; she thought in amazement as he slammed one knee down while the other held him aloft. He could practically fold each limb, sliding, twisting, moving in ways that people could only dream of – if they were into human origami. No wonder he hurt, and she was glad to see him moving and doing this. She wasn’t a physical therapist or a doctor, but she could see exactly how abused joints had grown sore over time and knew she wanted to help.

And as he blocked a score – he rose and held his hockey stick up like a knight holding aloft his lance, pointing at her.

Acknowledging her.

If that wasn’t freakin’ romantic, she didn’t know what was. She smiled nervously and blew him a kiss… and saw him do the same with his gloved hand – before quickly moving back into position, focused and driven.

“See? Weird,” Kendall said once more, but the bitterness of her sister’s voice was gone. Things were slowly getting better at home, and maybe weird was okay. Her sister and Dustin had this strange bickering friendship. He made her study, encouraged her to be independent, and was now taunting her with hockey little league, and her sister made him a toilet-shaped coffee mug that he used all the time.

Maybe they didn’t have to be cozy, because families weren’t that way sometimes. She saw it in the new families surrounding them. From arguing kids to infants who were exhausted, to wary pre-teens… perhaps they just needed to find a way for their circles to intersect with the least amount of destruction possible, and that was okay too.

In fact, it was more than okay because it wasn’t forced.

Each of them was cherished for their own thoughts, beliefs, wishes, and attempts to find their own footing. Kendall was going to learn how to play hockey with Paige, Stephen, and a few other kids – because it’s what they chose to do, to be a part of this world.

And it was beautiful.

Dustin leaped to the side, blocking another shot – and blew her another kiss the moment he got back to his feet, once again, focused and zeroing in on his job.

Her heart, her eyes, her soul focused on him , her husband.

He was beautiful.

T hey won.

That was the most intense game Laurel had ever witnessed, but they managed to hold onto their lead even in the last few seconds when things became insane on the ice. Dustin managed to block the puck in a frantic rush of players, surrounded and slapping at the puck. At one point, they skated past and tried to hook it behind one of the players, tugging the puck forward to see if they could slip past him – and he blocked it, too. She had no idea how he kept up with the quickly moving puck that seemed to be everywhere at once, but he did… and they were celebrating.

They probably should not have put a hot mic on Coeur, either.

“Ha… HA ! Take that Perry… you pansy! Go cry to your mama, pretty boy, and make room so the manly-men can celebrate!”

“Coeur…”

“What?”

“Don’t gloat.”

“Me? I’m celebrating…”

“You’re still mic’d up.”

“Crappola…” Coeur grimaced as they walked down the hallway toward the locker rooms and waved happily, talking excitedly for whoever was listening. “Hey, Irene! Hey, Stephen! I wanted to just tell my family how much I love them and treasure their support – and how grateful I am to be a part of the Wolverines. I learned so much during my time with the North Texas Coyotes that the transition feels like…”

“Coeur?”

“Yeah, Salas?”

“They cut your mic.” A man’s voice interrupted Coeur. Laurel and Kendall exchanged a knowing glance as the wild hockey player suddenly changed his tune. They heard a ripple of laughter from several others nearby as Irene, Coeur’s wife, rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“Oh, thank goodness – what a bunch of whiny babies on the ice. I almost had to ask one of the goalies where Perry’s paci was… I swear, I’ve never seen such a… Boucher, my mic is still hot, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“I think I’ll shut up now.”

“That’d be swell, buddy.”

“Love ya, man.”

“Love ya too, bro.”

Salas walked past, laughing wildly and grinning - then Laurel saw Dustin.

Her husband was slowly making his way off the ice, walking beside the other goalie, talking quietly to each other. Her husband had a lot of respect for Matthieu Larsson – and she’d met his wife briefly earlier in the evening. Cute, quiet, nerdy thing that was just adorable, reminding her of a teddy bear you wanted to snuggle. The two seemed so different, but then again – so were Laurel and Dustin.

“Hey,” Dustin smiled, his expression tired.

“You did great this evening,” she began gingerly, holding his gaze as Kendall interrupted.

“Bro, you have got to teach me your moves on the ice!” Kendall began. “Seriously, sick man! You were on fire, and that final save? – Chefs kiss. I think you are upgrading from the toilet to a full-fledged bidet, and that’s saying something.”

The two men laughed – Matthieu looking confused and a little nervous. “Where’s Jeannie?”

“She got called into work,” Laurel began and saw the man’s confused and crestfallen face. “I don’t think she wanted to leave, and she looked really upset.”

“It’s fine – and thank you for letting me know. See you Monday, Lafreniére,” Matthieu said easily. “Mrs. Lafreniére, Kendall…” he nodded and took off, leaving Dustin standing there with them.

“So upgraded, huh,” he smiled easily. “What if I’m partial to my toilet mug.”

“Then keep it – ya know – in case you lose the next game or screw up,” Kendall replied, shrugging… but there was that telltale smirk shared between them.

“I appreciate that,” he chuckled and looked at Laurel. “I’ve got to get cleaned up and…”

“Do you want us to wait?” she asked interrupting nervously. “We can wait in the lounge or in the car. I don’t mind…”

“I do,” Kendall chimed in. “Unless there’s snacks – then I’m down.”

“If you don’t mind,” Dustin smirked. “There are snacks in the lounge and you would be comfortable. I might be a minute…”

“Take your time,” Laurel assured him as Kendall was tugging at his hand already with a familiarity that spoke of family as Dustin tossed a smile over his shoulder as Laurel put her hand on it. The trio parted a moment later as the two of them stepped into the lounge to wait, and Dustin took off to get cleaned up.

The spread was unexpectedly generous—long tables lined with gleaming chafing dishes, their silver lids reflecting the warm lighting of the lounge. The scent of roasted meats, smoked chicken wings, buttery rolls, and something decadently cheesy filled the air, and at the very center of it all sat a tray of cupcakes, their blue and red swirls a playful nod to the team’s colors. It was a small detail but one that spoke volumes.

Laurel took it all in, the warmth of the gathering settling into her bones. This wasn’t just a courtesy, a meaningless gesture for show. It was something more. A statement. A promise.

Take care of them, and they’ll take care of us.

It was an unspoken mantra, evident in the way the team treated not just their players, but the people connected to them. Wives, girlfriends, siblings, even children—every single person in this room mattered. The organization didn’t have to do this. They didn’t have to feed them, or offer them comfortable seats, or welcome them into the fold like family. But they did. Time and time again.

And that kind of loyalty? That kind of care? It was humbling.

Laurel’s heart squeezed a little as she settled into a chair, the murmur of voices blending with the occasional burst of laughter around her. She wasn’t used to this. Being included . Being valued .

And from the relaxed way people settled in, waiting for their loved ones to emerge from the locker room, she knew she wasn’t alone in feeling that way.

“Ooooh, gurrrrl,” Jamie Salas teased, dragging out the words in amusement. “This is nice .”

“Right?” Kendall chimed in, flopping onto a nearby couch without a care in the world, her fingers already tearing into a chicken wing like it was the first food she’d seen in days.

Jamie chuckled, shifting her attention to Laurel. “So… did you and your mom?—”

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Kendall interrupted flatly, lifting a single hand in a gesture so authoritative that it would have put a seasoned CEO to shame. “She’s my sister. And while she does need some foundation or eyeliner—” Kendall paused to gesture vaguely toward Laurel’s face, “—Laurel doesn’t look that ancient.”

Laughter rippled through the group.

Laurel rolled her eyes, sighing with exaggerated exasperation. “Hi. I’m Laurel—the decrepit older sister.”

Jamie grinned. “Jamie. Apparently, I also qualify for that club.”

“Y’all are all old peeps,” Kendall announced between bites, utterly oblivious to the way every adult in the room stared at her in mock offense.

Laurel shook her head, but her lips twitched at the corners. Kendall was something else—a whirlwind of contradictions, all sharp opinions and stubborn confidence, yet somehow still the same little girl who had once reached for Laurel’s hand in the dark when the thunder got too loud.

A woman hesitated before stepping closer, her voice soft. “I’m Constance.”

Laurel turned to her and immediately recognized her, though it took a second to place where from. “Boucher’s wife, right?”

Constance nodded. “I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me,” she admitted. “I spoke with Irene at the last meeting a couple of weeks ago… mostly while trying to keep my kids from destroying the place.”

Laurel smiled. “I doubt they were that bad.”

Constance grimaced. “Think again.”

Jamie, listening in, chuckled knowingly. “I call it the Zack-Attack .” She subtly pointed to a little boy curled up on a beanbag in the corner of the room. “That’s Kenneth’s son, Zachary. Completely tuckered out.”

Laurel glanced over, and sure enough, the child was out cold, his small form lost in the oversized beanbag. There was something undeniably sweet about it—his tiny fingers curled into his shirt, his peaceful face a stark contrast to the chaos Jamie was implying he could unleash when awake.

Jamie smirked. “I’m not exactly mom material, but I think it’s that weird age where they’re caught between ‘naps daily’ and ‘no naps anymore.’ Kid’s gonna be scary when he’s a teenager.”

Laurel exhaled a small laugh. “I know that feeling,” she muttered, side-eyeing Kendall.

Her sister only grinned, then wiggled her fingers at her playfully—right before the door to the lounge creaked open.

Instantly, conversation died. Heads turned. Eyes lifted.Standing in the doorway were Dustin and Kenneth. Neither stepped inside. Neither needed to. Their presence alone was enough to shift the energy in the room.

Kenneth moved first, crossing over to where Zachary slept, his large hands effortlessly lifting his son into his arms. The movement must have stirred something in Jamie because she let out a barely-there sigh—one that sounded a little too wistful for Laurel’s comfort.

Laurel glanced at her, then at Constance, whose expression mirrored the same quiet wishful expression as her eyes glanced at the doorway again in hope.

That kind of peace isn’t for everyone, Laurel thought . At least… not yet.

She shifted her gaze, finding Dustin’s. He was watching her. She knew he was. And in that moment, something warm curled low in her stomach, something hopeful, something hesitant.

I hope it’s in mine soon…

Dustin’s voice was low, even. “Are you and Kendall ready to go?”

Laurel nodded, perhaps a little too quickly. “Yes.”

Beside her, Kendall made a sound of protest, but before she could start, Laurel shot her a look. “Grab a cupcake to-go. And a few more wings. You can eat in the car or at the house.”

Kendall’s mood did a complete one-eighty. “Bout time,” she muttered, already moving toward the food like she hadn’t just been dramatically upset two seconds ago.

Laurel shook her head, fighting back a smile.

One moment, Kendall was acting like it was the end of the world. The next, she was perfectly fine, going along with whatever plan was set before her. Up was down, left was right, and the girl was as fickle as could be…

But not now.

Not tonight.

Go figure.

As they walked out to the private garage, security was waiting by the door to make sure no one had slipped in to corner any of the players.

“Bonne nuit, Monsieur Lafreniére …”

“Salut, Alain…” Dustin replied back easily. They were all picking up phrases here and there, trying to learn, so they could fit in. It was the little things that were making them feel a little more comfortable as they went. They talked, deciphered menus, talked about road signs, and other things, but it was the level of comfort that was beginning to change within all of them as a family.

As they climbed into the car, Laurel cringed slightly as Kendall’s plate teetered in her hands, the bright swirl of frosting on the cupcake wobbling dangerously. Before she could react, Dustin’s arm shot back with effortless precision, steadying the plate with an ease that sent a jolt through her chest.

Laurel caught her breath, her gaze snapping to his. His eyes met hers, darkening subtly, an almost imperceptible shift that sent heat curling through her stomach. That simple movement—so instinctive, so unconscious—was a pure, unfiltered dad-move. It was the kind of thing that belonged in a book, a quiet moment that spoke volumes about the man who made it.

Her fingers twitched against her lap, the pull toward him almost unbearable. She wanted to kiss him. Wanted to lean forward, bridge the few inches separating them, and press her lips against his. But she wouldn’t. I am not going to make the next move, she vowed stubbornly, though her resolve weakened the instant she saw his eyes flicker to her mouth.

“Kendall,” Dustin said, his voice husky, rough around the edges. “You got your plate?”

“Yes, grumpy,” Kendall grumbled, her attention already back on her treat.

“Good.” His voice softened as he let go of the plate, but instead of retreating, he moved in. His arm stretched past Laurel, the warmth of his body brushing against hers as he reached for her seatbelt. The scent of him—clean, masculine, laced with a hint of something deeper, something uniquely Dustin —wrapped around her like a vice.

The buckle clicked into place, but he didn’t move away. Instead, his breath skimmed over her lips, so close she could almost taste the words he hadn’t spoken.

“Gotta keep you safe,” he murmured, and her heart stumbled in response.

Laurel swallowed hard, gripping the fabric of her Wolverine’s jersey to keep herself from reaching for him.

“Y’all seriously are making me nauseous,” Kendall muttered from the back seat, oblivious to the tension crackling in the front.

Dustin grinned but didn’t break eye contact with Laurel. “Good. I’ll take that cupcake then.”

“Nuh-uh…” Kendall mumbled through a mouthful of frosting.

Laurel let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and forced herself to look away. “Let’s go home,” she said softly, and Dustin’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, nodding once before turning the key in the ignition.

The drive was quiet, almost unnervingly so. No teasing banter from Kendall, no offhanded remarks from Dustin. Just the hum of the engine, the occasional flick of the turn signal, and the weight of something unspoken pressing into the silence.

Even in the elevator, that same tension lingered. It was thick, charged, like a storm on the horizon. The kind of feeling that made your skin prickle, made your heart race even when you didn’t understand why.

By the time they reached the condo, Kendall was visibly dragging, her exhaustion finally catching up to her. As Laurel unlocked the door, Dustin’s hand found the small of her back, his touch gentle yet undeniably firm as he guided her inside.

“You want some tea?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost intimate.

“Love some,” she whispered back, watching as Kendall yawned. “Why don’t you head up and get some rest? Maybe we’ll sleep in tomorrow and figure out something to do that’s relaxing.”

“Yeah…” Kendall agreed sleepily, rubbing at her eyes. “Good night, y’all.”

“Good night,” Dustin said, while Laurel added, “Sweet dreams.”

They waited until Kendall’s door clicked shut before Laurel turned, catching the flicker of surprise on Dustin’s face.

“You think she’s okay?” he asked, his brow furrowed in concern.

“I do,” Laurel reassured him. “I think she’s just tired.”

Dustin exhaled, shaking his head with a soft chuckle. “You know, I’ll never figure her out. Just when I think I understand that kid, she flips the script on me.”

“She’s incredibly smart and?—”

“I’m not arguing,” he interrupted quickly, lifting his hands in surrender. “I agree with you. But every time I start to think I’ve got a handle on this whole… weird, mixed-up, stepdad-but-not-a-stepdad-brother-in-law dynamic, she throws me a curveball.”

Laurel laughed, nodding. “I know exactly what you mean. Sometimes, I feel like her mom, but then I remind myself—I’m just her sister. Fourteen years older , sure, but still. She has a way of making me feel ancient.”

“She has a way of slicing me to ribbons with her mouth.”

“Right?” Laurel said immediately, and Dustin chuckled, shaking his head as he lifted the kettle off the burner, steam curling into the air. He poured the water into two mugs, the quiet between them settling into something warmer, something easier.

“The game was incredible,” she said after a beat.

“I’m just really glad we won,” he admitted, rolling his shoulders. “For a minute there, I thought I was going to miss a puck.”

“You did great,” she reassured him.

“I’m feeling it, though,” he confessed, flexing his fingers as if shaking off the lingering strain of the game.

Laurel tilted her head, considering him. “Why don’t we go stretch and…”

The words trailed off, the invitation lingering between them like an unspoken promise, thickening the air with something unnameable yet impossible to ignore. Laurel stood in the kitchen, her heart pounding in her chest, feeling the shift between them like the edge of a storm rolling in—charged, electric, inevitable.

Dustin exhaled, looking away as if he couldn’t bear to meet her gaze, his hands gripping the counter like it was the only thing keeping him steady. “It’s okay, Laurel,” he said quietly, his voice rough with restraint. “I know things are changing between us, but I’m not in a good place right now.”

Her brows drew together.

“What do you mean?”

He hesitated, his body taut as if bracing for impact. “I’m… I’m still in the post-game rush.”

She tilted her head slightly, watching him with quiet curiosity. “Okaaay,” she drew out, stretching the word like a question. “What does that have to do with anything?”

His jaw flexed. “I need to go burn off some energy—and you should probably just go to bed,” he said tightly, every syllable clipped, controlled. Without another word, he turned and strode off, leaving his untouched tea on the counter.

Laurel stood frozen for a moment, staring after him, her lips parting in shock before curving into something softer, something knowing. So that was it. That explained the heated looks, the restless energy, the way he’d been avoiding certain topics—or maybe just avoiding her. He was all adrenaline and unchecked aggression, his body still buzzing from the game, from the thrill of it. And yet, he was holding back.

Not because he wasn’t feeling it.

Because he was .

The realization sent a slow, delicious awareness through her.

Her fingers brushed against the ceramic of his abandoned mug as she picked it up, the warmth of it bleeding into her palm. She could still hear him moving down the hallway, could picture the way he would drop to the floor, muscles tightening, pushing himself hard, trying to work off the energy that had nowhere else to go.

But what if she pushed? Just a little.

What if she tipped over the fragile balance he was desperately trying to maintain?

A slow breath escaped her as she followed him, the air shifting as she stepped into the doorway of the small nook he had claimed for himself. It was barely a space at all, just a carved-out corner near the hallway where she had once envisioned a cozy reading spot. Now, it belonged to him—his mat, his weights, his place to wrestle his demons in silence.

He didn’t look at her right away, but he knew she was there.

“Don’t…” Dustin warned, his voice low, strained. “Just go get ready for bed and give me some space.”

Laurel ignored him, leaning casually against the doorframe, watching him with quiet intent.

He was still in the sweatpants he’d worn from the game, the soft fabric clinging to his legs, and a T-shirt that stretched over the strong lines of his chest and shoulders. His hair was still slightly damp, his jaw tight, his hands fisted at his sides as though he were barely holding himself together.

His eyes flicked up to her, sharp, blue, stormy.

“You don’t listen any more than she does,” he bit out, jerking his chin toward the ceiling, his voice laced with frustration.

Laurel crossed her arms over her chest, studying him. “Why are you getting so upset?”

His head dipped for half a second before he looked at her again, something dark flashing across his face. “Why did you write about me?”

Her stomach flipped.

Before she could answer, he sighed heavily and turned away, dropping down to the mat in one fluid motion. His body moved on instinct, pushing into the first set of push-ups, each motion precise, controlled, punishing. She knew his routine by now—this was just the start. Next would be stretches, then crunches, then more stretching.

She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

“The sticker,” she said softly.

Dustin froze mid-push-up.

His muscles flexed, his arms locking, his entire frame caught in that single moment of stillness. Slowly, he pushed himself back and shifted onto his knees, his broad shoulders rising and falling as he finally turned his head toward her.

“How long have you known?” she asked.

“For about four books,” he admitted, his voice unreadable.

Laurel’s breath hitched. “You’ve read four of my books?”

“They’re pretty… intense,” he said, a little gruffly, still not looking at her.

For the first time since stepping into the room, she felt something shift inside her—not just curiosity, not just amusement, but something deeper. He hadn’t just discovered her writing. He had been reading them. More than one. More than casually.

“Kendall should not be reading them,” he added after a beat.

She let out a shaky breath, nodding. “Agreed. I’m going to get one of those laptops with a fingerprint pass key and?—”

“You should have told me I got you the wrong kind of computer,” he interrupted, his voice suddenly quieter, rawer. His shoulders sagged slightly, something vulnerable creeping into his expression as he finally met her gaze fully. His blue eyes, always so steady, were brimming with something else now—something deep and unguarded.

Laurel’s heart ached at the sight.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice rough. “Because I want to help, to show my gratitude for helping me, and…”

She stepped forward, lowering herself onto the mat beside him, sitting cross-legged, her hands carefully wrapping around his abandoned tea mug before offering it to him.

“I don’t want your gratitude,” she murmured.

Dustin stared at her for a moment before hesitantly taking the mug from her hands. His fingers brushed against hers, and she felt the warmth of his skin, the faint tremor of restraint still pulsing beneath the surface.

“Besides,” she continued, a soft smile playing on her lips, “I’m picky when it comes to my computer—or my wallet. I like certain things. The keyboard has to feel right, the trackpad has to…”

“Laurel.”

Her name left his lips like a confession, heavy and meaningful.

She looked at him.

“I want to support what you do,” he admitted, his voice low, sincere. “Because frankly, I think it’s amazing.”

Something warm and unexpected bloomed in her chest. “You do?”

Dustin chuckled, shifting slightly, his earlobes turning the faintest shade of pink. “Yeah, I do,” he said, his voice a little shy, a little awed. “You take these imaginary scenes, fabricated moments, and somehow come up with a world that even I was drawn into—and I don’t read that, you know?”

A startled laugh bubbled out of her. “Dragon boinking?” she teased, using Kendall’s ridiculous description.

Dustin grinned, shaking his head. “Exactly.”

Laurel exhaled, feeling the weight of tension between them start to ease. For the first time, they weren’t dodging or avoiding or pretending. They were just talking.

And maybe… just maybe… something between them had already begun to fall.

“Blue eyes, huh?” Dustin murmured after a moment, raising an eyebrow.

Laurel smirked. “I could have been talking about Yu-Gi-Oh. You know, ‘ Blue Eyes White Dragon ’ cards and such.”

His laughter was quiet but real. “Were you?”

“No.”

That single word hung between them, charged with unspoken emotion, thickening the air between them like a brewing storm. Laurel could feel the weight of it settle in the space between them, heavy and unmoving.

They sat close—too close—yet not close enough, their knees nearly brushing, their breaths mingling in the stillness of the room. There was something about the way Dustin looked at her; like he was seeing straight into her soul, stripping her bare with nothing but his gaze. She could hear the unsteady rhythm of his breathing, mirroring the erratic beat of her own heart.

“I didn’t think so,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath, yet it seemed to shake the very foundation of her. His eyes flickered with uncertainty, but there was something else too, something deeper. Longing. Fear. Longing battling fear. “And things are changing for us, despite it all… and I’m scared. I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

Her stomach twisted at the admission. Laurel swallowed hard, fighting the raw emotion rising in her throat. “Why?” she asked, though she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer.

“Because I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”

His words carved into her like a knife, but not because they hurt—because they made her feel. Because they told her everything she already knew, everything she had tried to push down for so long. She had loved him quietly, in the shadows, waiting for him to see her the way she had always seen him. And now, finally, the walls between them were crumbling, brick by agonizing brick.

“I wish you would,” she breathed, the confession slipping from her lips before she could stop it. Her heart clenched as the truth, her deepest, most desperate desire, bared itself between them. If the words were tangible, she imagined they would hover in the air, fragile and dangerous, waiting for him to accept them—or shatter them.

Dustin went utterly still. Not just his body, but his soul, his very being seemed to pause in that moment.

“I wish you’d take a chance on us.”

His breath hitched, his expression shifting, torn between hesitation and the undeniable pull drawing them together.

“This isn’t a game,” he murmured, setting his mug down with deliberate care, as if the movement itself required all his focus.

“No, it isn’t,” she agreed, her voice soft but steady.

He reached for her then, taking her cup from her trembling hands and placing it beside his. The absence of it left her fingers cold and empty. But then his hands found hers, warm, solid, grounding.

“Laurel,” he whispered, her name a plea, a promise, a warning all at once. “Are you sure about this? There’s no going back, and I don’t want just an arrangement. I’m a man. I want things to change between us. I want more. I want a family someday.”

She exhaled sharply, her heart swelling at the vulnerability in his voice. He wasn’t just asking her to cross a line—he was asking her to leap with him into something uncertain, something terrifyingly real.

“Yes,” she breathed, and the relief in his eyes nearly undid her.

His fingers lifted, shaking slightly, and he touched her cheek with a reverence that made her breath hitch. His calloused thumb brushed over her skin, tracing the curve of her face as though committing it to memory. It was the softest touch, yet it sent fire racing through her veins.

He was terrified. She could see it in the way he hesitated, in the way his gaze searched hers like he was waiting for her to take it back, to retreat.

But she wouldn’t.

She couldn’t.

“You’re destroying any last bits of strength within me,” he said hoarsely, his breath ghosting against her lips, and her entire body trembled in awareness.

He was leaning in. Finally.

Her eyes fluttered closed as the anticipation built, the ache of waiting nearly unbearable.

But then, at the last second, doubt flickered in his eyes, and just like that—he started to pull away.

No!

Not again.

Panic surged through her, instinct taking over before she could second-guess herself. She reached out, fisting the front of his shirt, her fingers tangling in the fabric as she refused to let him slip through her grasp again. In one swift movement, she unfolded her leg, tossing it over his lap, anchoring herself to him—forcing him to stay.

Dustin let out a low chuckle, the sound rough and breathless. “How about you let me kiss you this time?”

Her lips curled into a soft, teasing smile, though her heart pounded wildly. “Go for it – and quit dawdling.”

“There’s something sweet in not being in a rush…” Dustin murmured, his voice a low rumble against the quiet of the room. His fingers skimmed over her waist, light as a whisper yet potent enough to send a shiver racing down her spine. It wasn’t just his touch—it was the promise laced within it. The patience. The control. The aching restraint that told her he wasn’t just lost in the moment; he was savoring it, savoring her .

Laurel’s breath caught in her throat, her heart a drumbeat in her ears. “I’ve been waiting for years,” she admitted, her voice thick with emotion.

She hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but there it was—the truth, raw and unguarded. She had waited for him. She had dreamed of him, and had wished he would look at her differently. Through the days when she had convinced herself he didn’t see her the same way, through the lonely nights where she had yearned for this —of his hands on her, of his lips finding hers, of finally being his .

And it was better than anything she had ever written in her books!

Dustin’s expression softened, the weight of her words sinking into him, settling in the depths of his gaze. His lips curved, understanding flickering across his face like a flame catching hold. “I know that now, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice full of something she couldn’t name, something deeper than desire.

And then he kissed her.

It wasn’t tentative. It wasn’t hesitant.

It was everything.

A sharp inhale was all she managed before his lips crashed into hers, his arms moving to wrap around her, holding her as if he was afraid to let go. The force of it sent a thrill down her spine, her body melting into his as he pulled her closer—closer still—until she was nearly in his lap. His hands weren’t just touching her; they were caressing her, silently encouraging her to give in to the feelings that had been simmering between them for so long.

She didn’t resist. She couldn’t resist.

Her fingers curled into his hair, gripping tight as she met him with equal fervor. There was no hesitation, no space for second-guessing—only the rush of sensation, the deep hum of happiness vibrating through her as he coaxed her for more.

And then, suddenly, the world shifted.

A startled gasp left her lips as he cupped her bottom, lifting her effortlessly against him as he stood. The movement sent her heart lurching, her legs instinctively tightening around his waist.

“W-Where are we going?” she breathed, dazed, her arms clinging to his shoulders as if letting go wasn’t an option.

“I’m shoving those stupid twin beds together,” he whispered fiercely.

Laurel sagged in his arms, a mixture of joy and relief bubbling inside her. She let out a breathless laugh, her forehead resting against his as warmth flooded her chest. He got it . He got her . Those twin beds had been a slap in the face and now a symbol of something much deeper. They were finally taking the steps to become a couple… and the space between them?

Gone.

Dustin chuckled, his laughter vibrating against her skin as he carried her into the bedroom. Setting her down on the corner of one bed, he didn’t even hesitate—he strode straight toward the nightstand that separated the twin beds, gripping the lamp cord and yanking it out of the wall with almost reckless impatience. The lamp thudded onto the surface as he grabbed the entire nightstand and moved it aside like it was nothing.

Then, with a determined breath, he turned and shoved one of the twin beds toward the other with a forceful scrape .

Laurel watched him, her chest rising and falling as the reality of the moment settled over her. This wasn’t just about beds. This wasn’t just about tonight .

This was him making a statement.

A decision.

A promise .

He turned to face her, chest heaving, a small, sheepish grin breaking across his lips as he reached for the hem of his T-shirt. “I’m sorry,” he said breathlessly, tugging the fabric over his head and tossing it aside. “We’re not using twin beds ever again.”

Her throat tightened as heat curled inside her, twisting and turning until all she could do was nod. “Nope,” she managed to croak.

Dustin’s expression darkened, the teasing edge fading as something far more intense took its place. He stepped toward her, the weight of his gaze holding her in place, his voice rough with need.

“And you’re sure?”

She met his stare without hesitation, her heart pounding, her answer absolute. “Completely.”

A slow, wicked smile tugged at his lips as he whispered, “Good.”

And then he was crawling onto the bed, reaching for her, drawing her into him—closing the space between them for good.