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But.

Well.

I’ve never claimed to be a decent or selfless kind of guy, and now that I know she wants me, all the years I’ve spent pent up wanting her are rearing in ugly ways.

Insecure ways. Jealous ways. Possessive ways.

December loves so deeply. She’d do anything for me. Anything I tell her. If I told her to pack a bag, tell her parents about us while holding it, and walk into my arms if they don’t approve, she would. She’d just also be crying as she does.

And I hate the idea of making my girl cry like that.

Sighing, I drop my head, pull a dirty hand through my sweat-slick hair, and peer toward my sliding glass back door. I should head inside. Shower.

I shouldn’t text Come here again just to prove to myself that December would, regardless of whatever she’s doing.

After all the labor I’ve done, I shouldn’t stay filthy , make her come to me, and wait to see if she—in all her pretty princessness—welcomes me into her arms despite the fact I’ve been stress-chopping wood by hand like I don’t own a freaking log splitter all day.

I shouldn’t.

So I won’t.

Me: After things are settled for tonight, message me.

My Dece: I will.

Then sneak out. I’ll pick you up. We’ll drive up the mountain to the clearing and stare at the stars until we fall asleep in the bed of my truck.

Me: I love you.

My Dece: I love you, too. So much.

So much.

And so much is gonna have to be enough.

Chapter 7

◼

Hope is such a cruel mistress.

December

Wynn: I tried to be good, but actually I’m not the good one in our relationship, and the sooner you learn that, the better probably. Come to me. I’m outside the gate.

Rubbing sleep from my eyes, I squint at my phone, sure that the text is just another layer of the wonderful dream I was having. After all, it’s three in the morning. There’s no way Wynnter’s come across town to see me in the dead of the night.

Sleepy, I slip from my blankets, snuggle up in my robe, slip on my slippers, and sneak down the stairs. Darkness swamps my parents’ entire, eerie manor home, bringing up memories of August’s wedding. That night, I snuck out just like this. And I’d have gotten away with it, too, if I hadn’t needed to start my car.

Without that step in the mix tonight, I glide silently into the chilly October evening, up the long drive, and out the side door nestled between tall bushes. Unlike the metal gate for the driveway, the wooden door for people isn’t password protected and can only be opened from the inside. Which, thankfully, I remember moments before it shuts on me.

I find a rock to hold it ajar before I scan the quiet road.

The shadows shift, then pitch black envelopes me in a warm, fresh embrace.

“Mm.” I puddle in Wynnter’s arms, sighing into his hug.

He tips my mouth up, and I sink, ready for this new magical dream to possess me.