Page 82 of What Remains of Grace

She followed him on the short walk to his building, every sensible part of her screaming that this was a bad idea, and every tired, lonely, wanting part of her already imagining what his mouth would feel like on hers when no one could interrupt.

21

The Aftermath

She woke before the alarm.

For a painful, disorienting second, she didn’t know where she was. The ceiling was wrong. The light coming in at the edges of the blinds was different. The sheets were unfamiliar.

Then everything rushed back, the way his body went still when she’d fisted a handful of his T-shirt, how he’d paused like he was giving her one last out. She hadn’t taken it.

She could still feel the scrape of his stubble against her jaw, the low sound he’d made when she’d kissed him harder.

She remembered the moment his hands slid to her hips, the ease with which he lifted her, like she weighed nothing. Her legs had wrapped around him without thought, instinctive, certain. They’d crashed into the couch in a tumble of heat and laughter, her back against the cushions, his body braced over hers.

He’d taken it slow.

So slow.

Every shift of his hands, every trail of his mouth, all felt like he was memorizing her and checking for hesitation in the same breath. It had undone her more than haste ever could have.

There had been a moment, a shocking, breath-snatching moment, when she’d felt exactly how big he was against her thigh through their clothes. Her brain had short-circuited, her fingers tightening in his shirt, and he’d kissed her like he knew exactly what he was doing to her.

The couch hadn’t lasted long. They’d fumbled their way to the bedroom, his hands steady at her waist, her own trying desperately not to shake. She remembered the downy thud of the mattress, his breath warm at her ear, his voice a rough whisper promising nothing but the moment.

Cole’s arm lay heavy across her waist, his breath slow and even against the back of her neck. He was warm. Solid. Comforting in a way that felt almost dangerous.

Jenna stared at the wall and felt the panic rise. What had she done?

It wasn’t that he’d been careless. He hadn’t. If anything, he’d moved like a man constantly checking for brakes to pump, giving her every chance to pull away. She hadn’t taken any of them.

She’d wanted this. Wanted Cole, the man who had fixed her sister’s roof in a storm, who brought her water without being asked, who took Emmie seriously, who had slowly become the person she’d looked for in every room.

But wanting didn’t change the facts.

Her life was already stretched thin. Grief still clung to the edges of everything. Emmie needed her. The bakery needed her. Her parents needed her not to fall apart completely. If she let herself fall for this man, really fall, and it went wrong . . . she didn’t know what kind of damage it would do.

She’d already lost too much.

Carefully, slowly, she reached down and lifted his arm from her waist, sliding out from under it. He murmured something unintelligible but didn’t wake.

His bedroom was small and cluttered, like someone who was almost never home with boots by the door, a worn ball cap on the nightstand, and a couple of shirts slung over the back of a chair. She dressed quietly, piece by piece, gathering her things from where they’d landed.

Her phone buzzed on the floor, screen lighting up with a reminder about the inspection in two hours.

Two hours until she had to stand in the bakery and pretend she was nothing more than the client, proud and grateful, shaking hands with the man who had rebuilt it for her.

She slipped her shoes on and paused in the doorway, looking back at him.

He looked younger in sleep. Less guarded. One arm sprawled across the empty side of the bed like it had gone searching for her without his permission.

“Thank you,” she whispered, though she wasn’t sure for what exactly, for the bakery, for last night, for making her feel wanted in a way she hadn’t let herself feel in a long time.

Her body still remembered the weight of him, the warmth, the impossible sense that she’d been held without being trapped.

Then she turned and left.

The walk back to her car felt longer than it had any right to. By the time she slid behind the wheel, her heart was pounding in a way that had nothing to do with exertion.