Page 57 of After the Rain

Wade's face transformed, relief and joy and something that looked like wonder washing over his features. "Really?"

"Really. But Wade, if we do this—if we choose each other—everything changes. Your custody situation, my job, Cooper's social life. Are you ready for that?"

"I don't know if anyone's ever ready for that kind of change," he said honestly. "But I know I'm done being afraid of it."

The space between us felt charged, like the air before a thunderstorm. Wade reached out slowly, giving me time to pull away, and cupped my face in his hands.

"Ezra, I want to kiss you again. Not because I'm confused or experimenting or trying to figure out who I am. I want to kiss you because I love you, because you're the future I want to build, because this house would not mean anything without you in it."

I leaned into his touch, feeling the calluses on his palms from all the work he'd done on this place while thinking about us. "Then kiss me."

When his lips met mine, it felt like coming home and setting out on a journey simultaneously. This wasn't the desperate, panicked kiss we'd shared weeks ago. This was Wade choosing me with full knowledge of who he was and what it would cost us both.

I kissed him back with everything I'd been holding inside—all the longing and fear and hope I'd been carrying since the first time he'd smiled at me like I was someone worth knowing. My hands found the front of his shirt, pulling him closer.

When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Wade rested his forehead against mine.

"I want to show you the bedroom," he said, his voice rough with want and vulnerability. "I want to make love to you in the house I've been building for us."

The request was raw, honest, stripped of any pretense or games. Wade was offering me not just his body but his truth, his dreams, his willingness to be completely vulnerable.

"Yes," I whispered, because there was nothing else to say.

He took my hand and led me back through the house, up the stairs to the master bedroom. It was smaller than the other rooms but warm, with windows that caught the last of the evening light. There was a bed—queen-sized, simple wooden frame, clearly new—and not much else.

"I bought the bed last week," Wade said, suddenly shy. "I told myself it was because I needed furniture if I was going to sell theplace eventually. But really, I bought it because I kept imagining what it would be like to wake up next to you."

The admission undid me completely. Wade had been planning this, dreaming this, building toward this moment while I'd been protecting my heart and wondering if I was reading too much into his confusion.

I turned to face him fully, reaching for the hem of his shirt. "Show me," I said quietly. "Show me what you've been imagining."

What followed was the most honest, raw, breathtaking thing I'd ever experienced. Wade touched me like he was learning me—like every gasp, every sigh was a piece of a map he was quietly memorizing. And I gave myself back with equal intensity, pouring weeks of tension, longing, and something I hadn’t dared name into every kiss, every touch, every whispered breath against his skin.

We moved together with the urgency of two people who had held back too long—yet there was nothing careless about it. There was tenderness in the way he slowed down when I shivered, in the way our eyes kept meeting like we were both silently asking,Are you sure?

The door clicked shut behind us, and the soft hush of the room wrapped around us—not like a promise, but like a beginning.

Wade stood by the bed, his hands loose at his sides, fingers twitching with a nervous energy I recognized from watching him hold himself back. His eyes scanned the room, then landed on me—uncertain, hopeful, reverent.

He’d built this space with his own hands, but now he stood in it like a man on unfamiliar ground.

“I don’t…” He swallowed hard. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You don’t have to,” I said gently, stepping close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body. “We’ll figure it out together.”

He nodded, but his breath caught when I reached out and traced my fingers up the front of his shirt, slowly undoing each button. His eyes followed my hands, wide and shining, his chest rising and falling with a growing intensity.

“You okay?” I asked quietly.

Wade nodded again. “Yeah. Just… I’ve wanted this for so long I don’t know what to do with it now that it’s real.”

I pressed a kiss to his chest as I peeled the shirt off his shoulders. “You don’t have to do anything except feel.”

Wade’s hands found my hips, tentative at first, then firmer as he pulled me closer. When our bare torsos touched, he let out a low, shaky breath and buried his face in my neck.

“I’ve dreamed about this,” he murmured. “About you. About us. But the real thing… God, Ezra.”

I ran my hands over his back, feeling every ridge of muscle, every place where he’d carried the weight of hiding. I kissed his jaw, then his mouth—slowly, carefully—until he opened to me with a soft, desperate sound that made my knees threaten to give.

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