Page 38 of Once Upon A Second Chance

“Then there’s the night we got caught making out in the library stacks.”

The car quiets for a beat. I see his hands tighten slightly onthe wheel.

“Dr. McCormack’s face,” he says finally, his voice lower now, rough with memory.

I shift in my seat, pressing my thighs together as the heat blooms under my skin. “I thought she was going to have an aneurysm.”

“Worth it.”

Our eyes meet for one charged second before he looks back at the road. The air between us crackles—something electric and old, alive again in the space between breaths.

The sun dips lower, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold as we wind our way into the mountains.

The trees grow thicker, the air cooler through the cracked windows. Richard’s playlist shifts to something softer—The Cranberries, Mazzy Star, songs that feel like nostalgia and new beginnings all at once.

I catch him glancing at me every so often, like he’s making sure I’m still here. Like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he looks away too long.

“What?” I ask finally,when his gaze lingers.

He smiles, small and private. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“How much I missed this.”

The honesty in his voice steals my breath.

I reach across the console, threading my fingers through his. His hand is warm, his grip firm. He brings our joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles without taking his eyes off the road.

No grand declarations. No over-the-top gestures.

Just this.

Justus.

The tires crunch over the gravel driveway as Richard eases the truck to a stop.

Through the windshield, the cabin rises like something from a dream—dark wood siding, a steeply pitched roof dusted with pine needles, and a wraparound deck that overlooks the valley below.

The last rays of sunset paint the mountains in fiery hues, setting the entire scene ablaze with golden light.

I exhale, my breath fogging the window slightly. "You undersold this."

Richard kills the engine, grinning. "Did I?"

"You said it was 'a place in the woods.'"

"Itisin the woods."

I shove his shoulder. "You're impossible."

He catches my hand before I can pull away, his thumb brushing my knuckles.

"You love it."

I don't correct him.

The air is crisp up here with the scent of pine and damp earth as we step out of the truck. Somewhere in the trees, a wood thrush calls, its song echoing through the quiet.