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She leaned against his strong arm for the rest of the drive home while Cal muttered, voice rough with affection, “Whatever you say, princess.”
33
CAL
Cal kept one hand steady on the wheel, the big F-350 rumbling confidently through the fresh powder. Snow swirled in the headlights like slow-motion stars, fat flakes catching the beams before vanishing into the darkness. The mountains rose dark and massive in the distance, their jagged silhouettes carved sharply against a sky so clear and star-filled it almost hurt to look at.
Sage had drifted off about ten minutes back. She was curled sideways in his lap now, cheek pressed trustingly to his chest, one small hand fisted in his shirt like she needed to hold onto him even in sleep. Her breathing was soft, slow, and peaceful. Every now and then she made a tiny contented sound that twisted something deep and protective in his chest.
With his free hand he kept brushing slow, gentle strokes down her back, over the lush curve of her hip, and up into the silky strands of her hair. He couldn’t stop touching her. Didn’t want to.
Oh Lord… Thank you for her. I don’t deserve her. But thank you. I’m trying.
The prayer filled him until his ribs felt too tight. She had come into his life like a song he didn’t know he’d been waiting his whole life to hear. Every day since, he woke up scared he’d somehow mess it up and lose her.
Tonight especially.
He wanted to give her something special when they got home — something that showed her exactly what she meant to him. But the truth was… he had no damn clue how. Before Sage, he’d had zero experience with women. None. He knew how to protect her, how to hold her, how to comfort and care for her. But the rest? The soft, slow, intentional kind of loving she deserved — the way she worshipped his body like it was sacred? His hands felt too big, too rough, too clumsy for that kind of tenderness.
His thumb traced the delicate shell of her ear, careful not to wake her. He’d been sneaking time lately — watching videos, reading articles, trying to learn what might make her lose her mind the way she so easily made him lose his.
Oh love, I pray I’m able to…
He sighed as the weight of his past pressed in again.
She needed to know. Had to know. He couldn’t propose — couldn’t ask her to be his forever — until she heard the whole ugly truth. The blood on his hands. The man he used to be. The nights he’d spent trying to outrun his own shadow. She deserved the choice without half a story.
Sage shifted in his lap, nuzzling closer with a sleepy little sigh. Cal smiled.
I love you, honey. I pray you still love me after you know.
The estate lights finally appeared through the falling snow, warm gold against the white landscape. Cal eased off the gas and turned up the long private driveway, heart hammering harder than it had any right to.
He brushed one last kiss to the top of her head and whispered, so quiet it barely disturbed the silence between them:
“I love you, princess. Always.”
SAGE
Brutus met them at the top of the wide porch steps, a massive silhouette against the golden glow spilling from the cabin windows. He let out a deep, sleepy huff that puffed white in the falling snow, his thick brown fur dusted white like powdered sugar.
Sage didn’t hesitate. She dropped straight into the snow in her short black-and-red plaid skirt, ridiculous knee-high boots, and good wool coat, crouching down so she could press her forehead against the broad, furred wall of his head. Her breath clouded between them.
“Hey, buddy. Who’s a good boy?”
Brutus rumbled happily and licked a warm, slobbery stripe up her cheek, bumping his massive shoulder gently against her leg like he was saying, hi, love you, feed me.
Cal chuckled low, the sound vibrating through his chest as he grabbed Sage’s guitar case from the truck bed and followed her up the steps. Snow crunched under his boots.
“He’s definitely a hungry boy.”
The grizzly leaned back on his haunches with surprising dignity, one huge paw rubbing slow circles over his round belly while he gave Cal the most offended side-eye a fourteen hundred pound bear could manage.
“Oh poor baby!” Sage cooed, snuggling closer. “Cal, he needs food.”
Cal snorted, setting the guitar case carefully against the heavy hand-carved double doors. “Princess, aside from all the snacks you keep sneaking him, he gets damn near thirty pounds of fruit, meat, and fish every single day.”
Brutus grunted indignantly, as if deeply wounded by the truth.
