Page 43 of Chocolate Cherry Cabin

He stood, meeting her in the doorway. “Let absolutely nobody stand in the way of what you want, Hannah. Nobody.”

* * *

The kitchen felt small, electrified, as though if either one of them took a step they’d bring the walls down.

Hannah stood in the doorway, frozen to the spot. As a teen, Louis would get like this sometimes. He’d tighten up, become extra snippy with her, then skip chemistry class. But there was no class to skip now, and she was in his house. His doorway.

She’d been the one ready to flee this time, but now there was no way she’d give him the satisfaction. Not even with him facing off with her in the enclosed space. His eyes were a churning sea of emotion, and he reached out, scooping his hands into her hair, tangling his fingers in the strands, bracing her entire being for one long glorious moment before locking his lips on hers in a fervent kiss. He took Hannah’s breath away with the intensity and ferocity of his need. She kissed him back, lost in the feeling of being consumed.

Panting, they broke apart.

“I hate you,” she breathed.

He pulled her in for another long kiss, this one slower.

“I’m not your mom!”

“I know.”

“I couldn’t become a doctor,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“And it nearly broke me.”

“I know that, too.”

She rested her forehead against his chest. The muscles under his shirt were unfamiliar, but reassuring and solid. This man in front of her—the same one who’d tried to tune a piano—wasn’t the Louis she thought she knew. He wasn’t the teen she’d known in high school, and she was afraid to confirm the hunch that was developing within her. But it was like a blaring horn, disturbing her thoughts, reminding her that she’d never actually known the real Louis. And she might really, really like that version.

He’d seen the things she’d refused to. He’d seen that Calvin couldn’t fill that big, empty hole inside her that losing her dream had created. In that context, she understood why he’d been so belligerent and prickly about Calvin.

But she also saw things that Louis refused to.

“This isn’t going to work,” she whispered.

He tipped her chin up, kissing her again, that urgent need rising between them once more. It made her light-headed while at the same time grounding her. She felt lost, but found. It was as though two contradictory universes were spinning through her, and she was powerless to do anything but turn with them.

“Don’t sell us short,” he said between kisses.

“You put up walls,” she retorted, kissing him back.

He pulled away to look at her. “What does that mean?”

“You run to a new adventure instead of sitting through the quiet. You fight instead of bonding.”

“We’re not fighting.”

“That doesn’t make it any less true.”

His kisses had turned tender, his hands secure on her back, her waist. “What if you met someone who could love you the way you needed? What would you do?”

She leaned back. “What are you saying?”

“I think you could be a lot happier, Hannah Murphy—”

“I’m happy enough.”

“—and I want to make it so.”

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