Page 40 of Until the Storm Breaks (The Midnight Men #1)

MAREN

A few days later I wake to the smell of coffee and the sound of Calvin moving quietly in the kitchen, trying not to wake me. The floorboards creak despite his efforts. Morning light filters through the curtains, soft and golden, telling me it’s probably after seven. Maybe closer to eight.

The bed is still warm where he was lying, his pillow still indented, the sheets twisted from last night. His t-shirt is draped over the chair where he tossed it. I pull it on, breathing in his scent—soap and that subtle cologne I’ve become addicted to—and pad out to find him.

He’s standing at the counter in just his jeans, hair still mussed from sleep, pouring coffee from Susan’s old pour-over setup.

The morning light catches the muscles in his back as he moves, and I let myself appreciate the view for a moment before he notices me.

There’s something intimate about seeing him like this.

“Morning,” I say, and he turns with that slow smile that still makes my stomach flip.

“I was going to bring you coffee in bed,” he says, already reaching for a second mug from the cabinet. He knows which one I like. The blue one with the chip on the handle.

“You were taking too long,” I tell him, moving closer. “I got lonely.”

“Needy,” he teases, but his free hand finds my waist, pulling me against him. His skin is warm, and I can feel his heartbeat when I press my palm to his chest.

“Says the man who wouldn’t let me leave the bed until 3 AM,” I remind him, feeling heat rise to my cheeks at the memory.

“That was different,” he says, voice dropping lower, thumb stroking along my ribs. “That was necessary.”

My phone buzzes on the counter, breaking the moment. I glance at it, expecting work stuff—maybe Lark with a crisis about inventory. But it’s from Theo.

Hey Maren. Coming by tomorrow morning to drop off Laila as planned.

Also wanted to see if you and Calvin could come by the restaurant tonight?

Just me and Alex, casual dinner. Would really like to talk about the cabin situation and clear the air.

I know this whole thing has been handled badly and I feel terrible about it. Does 7 work?

I read it twice, my stomach tightening with each pass.

“What is it?” Calvin asks, reading my expression. His hand tightens slightly on my waist, protective.

I hand him the phone. He reads, his jaw working slightly, that muscle jumping the way it does when he’s trying not to say what he’s really thinking.

“He feels terrible,” I say, trying to process Theo’s genuine tone. “That’s... something.”

“He should feel terrible,” Calvin says, setting the phone down harder than necessary. The counter vibrates slightly. “They all should.”

“Calvin—”

“I know they’re my brothers,” he says, turning to face me fully, both hands on my waist now. “But the way they handled this, not telling you until it was basically done—”

“They couldn’t,” I interrupt, even though it hurts to defend them. “I get that. I really do understand it. It’s just...”

“It’s just that you’re losing your home,” he finishes quietly, and the gentleness in his voice makes my throat tight.

“Yeah,” I admit, voice a whisper. “That.”

He pulls me against him properly, and I let myself lean into his warmth for a moment, my face pressed to his chest. “I’ve been talking with a preservation attorney,” he says against my hair.

“The house might qualify for historic status. That would complicate any demolition plans, maybe force them to renovate instead. Then it would be easier to work you into the deal.”

“Calvin, that sounds like a long shot. And you can’t fight your whole family.”

“Watch me,” he says, pulling back to look at me, his eyes fierce with determination. “This isn’t right, Maren. None of it. And Mom wouldn’t want this. She promised you’d always have a home here.”

“Promises don’t hold up in real estate law,” I say, trying for humor but falling flat.

His thumb traces my cheekbone, gentle. “We don’t have to go tonight,” he adds, softer now. “If it’s too much. If you’re not ready to hear whatever they have to say.”

I lean into his touch, considering. “No, we should go. Theo’s trying. He and Alex have always been kind to me. And honestly, I’d rather know what’s happening than be in the dark. At least if I know the timeline, I can start looking for places.” I swallow hard. “It’s not the end of the world.”

“You’re sure you want to go?” His eyes search mine.

I nod. “Plus, free dinner at the best restaurant in town. Might as well eat well while my world crumbles.”

“There’s my practical girl,” he says, though I can tell he’s forcing the lightness.

We stand there in the morning light, holding each other, not talking about how in a few weeks he’s supposed to leave for Seattle. Not talking about what we are to each other beyond this moment.

“We should eat something,” he finally says. “Before we face my brothers and their guilt tonight.”

“Millie’s?” I suggest hopefully. “I need hash browns for emotional fortification.”

“Hash browns as armor?”

“Hash browns as a life philosophy,” I correct, already moving toward the bedroom to get dressed.

“Let me just...” He gestures at his lack of shirt.

“I don’t know, I kind of like this look,” I say, letting my eyes travel down his chest deliberately, watching the way his breathing changes. “Very Dark River chic. Very ‘I just rolled out of bed looking perfect.’”

“Pretty sure Millie has a shirt requirement,” he says, but he’s smiling now, real and warm, moving closer to me.

“Her loss.” I take a step back, then another, maintaining eye contact. “Though maybe it’s for the best. Don’t want to cause a riot among the morning coffee crowd.”

“The morning coffee crowd is mostly fishermen over sixty.”

“Exactly. Their hearts can’t take it.”

He laughs, shaking his head, and the sound fills the kitchen, chasing away the heaviness from moments before.

Twenty minutes later, we’re in his truck heading to town, both properly dressed, his hand finding mine over the console like it belongs there. His thumb traces circles on my palm, and I try not to think about how natural this feels, how right.

“What are we going to tell them tonight?” I ask as we pass the harbor, boats bobbing in the morning light. “Theo and Alex. About us.”

“The truth,” Calvin says simply. “That we’re together.”

“Are we?” The question slips out before I can stop it. “I mean, I know we are now, but...” I trail off, unable to finish the thought. But you’re leaving. But this has an expiration date. But I’m already in too deep.

“Maren.” He glances at me, then back at the road, his hand finding mine. “We are. And we’ll figure out how to make it work. We should talk about that actually. Get the details worked out.”

“I know,” I say quickly, my chest tightening. “After we deal with the cabin situation and everything else.”

“Or we could talk about it now?” he suggests, pulling into the parking spot but not turning off the engine.

“I’m not ready,” I admit, looking out the window at the familiar storefront, the faded awning, the hand-painted sign that’s been there since before I was born. “I’m not ready to talk about you leaving or me moving or any of it. Can we just... a little bit longer? Before reality comes crashing in?”

He turns off the engine, shifts to face me fully. “Maren—”

“Please,” I interrupt, hating how small my voice sounds. “Just... let me pretend a little longer. That this is normal. That we’re just a couple getting breakfast on a Tuesday morning.”

He brings our joined hands to his lips, kisses my knuckles with a tenderness that makes my eyes burn. “We can have whatever you want.”

“I want hash browns,” I say, deflecting. “And bacon. And maybe pancakes.”

“Emotional eating. I approve.” His voice gets deeper, more serious. “Whatever happens tonight, whatever they say about the cabins or the timeline or any of it—we’ll figure it out together. Okay?”

“Okay,” I agree, even though I’m not sure how we figure out him being in Seattle and me being here. Even though I’m not sure what together means when everything’s about to change.

But when he looks at me like that, steady and sure, I can almost believe we’ll find a way.

That evening, the drive to Harbor & Ash feels both too long and too short.

Calvin’s hand rests on my thigh, thumb tracing absent circles through my jeans, and I can feel the tension radiating off him despite his calm expression.

His jaw is doing that thing where he’s clenching without realizing it.

Every few minutes, he adjusts the rearview mirror that doesn’t need adjusting.

“We can still cancel,” he offers as we pull into the restaurant’s parking lot. “Say you got food poisoning. Or I did. Or we both did from Millie’s hash browns.”

“Those hash browns were perfect and you know it,” I say, but I squeeze his hand, feeling the calluses from all his recent construction work. “It’s going to be fine.”

“You don’t know my brothers when they get going,” he warns, putting the truck in park but not moving to get out. “They’re going to be insufferable about us.”

“Good,” I say, surprising myself with how much I mean it. “I’d rather have them tease us than tiptoe around everything.”

Harbor & Ash glows warm against the evening sky, all exposed brick and Edison bulbs visible through the large windows.

Even on a Tuesday, the place is packed—couples on dates leaning into each other over candlelight, business dinners with men in suits that look out of place in Dark River, tourists who’ve heard about the James Beard nomination and made the drive from Seattle just to say they’d been here.

Theo and Alex have built something special, transforming what used to be Murphy’s Seafood—a dive that smelled like old grease and desperation—into the kind of restaurant that has Seattle food critics making the drive north and writing breathless reviews about “elevated coastal cuisine.”