Page 69 of Wildflower and Whiskey
I didn’t trust myself to speak for a moment. The mix of rage and protectiveness coiled tight under my ribs.
“What do I tell Elyna? She’ll be terrified.”
Dad hesitated. “Nothing yet. She’s been through enough. Let her breathe, just for tonight. It’s Thanksgiving and her son’s first birthday it’s not the time for fear let her enjoy tonight.”
I wanted to argue, but he wasn’t wrong.
Becket clapped my shoulder once, firmly. “Go sit with your girl. We’ll take care of the situation.”
He left the room, and I stayed for a second longer, staring at the old family photos on the wall, Mom’s smile, my brothers in their younger days, our whole family frozen in a moment before everything got complicated.
Then I headed back down the hall.
Elyna was by the fire, Braden asleep beside her. She was barefoot now, her dress hem brushing the floor, soft lamplight glinting in her hair. She looked up when I entered, and the exhaustion in her eyes was shadowed by something else, something tender, open.
“Everything okay?” she asked. My chest squeezed.
“Yeah,” I said, dropping onto the couch beside her. “Dad just wanted to talk about some work stuff.”
She smiled faintly. “Even on a holiday?”
“He doesn’t know how to turn it off.” I forced a grin for her sake.
She leaned into me, her head against my shoulder. The fire crackled; the sounds of the others faded as doors shut and laughter drifted upstairs. I wrapped an arm around her and breathed her in: baby shampoo, sugar, a hint of cinnamon.
“Thank you for bringing me tonight, for making this day special for Braden. For letting me be part of this. I think Braden knew it was his birthday with all the attention on him. He was happy.”
“You are part of this,” I murmured, brushing my thumb along her arm. “Part of us. Braden is too. We don’t let birthdays slide without making a fuss.”
Her breath caught, soft, and then she shifted closer, looking up at me through her lashes. “Phoenix…”
The way she said my name was all it took for that ache that lived somewhere between gratitude and desire to spark.
I bent my head and kissed her.
It wasn’t a kiss like the last one, which was hungry and desperate, this one carried weight. It was slow, deep, the kind that said you didn’t want the night to end. The kind that built heat without trying.
When she broke away, her forehead rested against mine. “You sure this is okay?” she whispered. “With your family here. . .”
“They’re half-asleep,” I said, smiling against her mouth. “And I don’t care.”
Her laugh was quiet, breathy. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah,” I said, nuzzling her neck. “But you like me that way.”
She did. I felt it in the way her pulse jumped under my lips. The warmth of her skin, the way her fingers fisted lightly in my shirt. Outside, wind rustled the trees, and somewhere in the distance, a motion light clicked on.
Neither of us moved.
For now, it was just us in the warmth, the firelight, and the soft, rhythmic breaths of the baby beside us.
I kissed her again, slower this time, until her body melted into mine and the rest of the world faded.
CHAPTER 31
Phoenix
The Val-Du-Lys Thanksgiving Market was one of those events that made the town feel like the heart of the Laurentians. Every October, the square transformed into a patchwork of color and noise, booths piled with apples, pears, pumpkins, and jars of honey catching the last of the afternoon sun. The air smelled like roasted chestnuts, cinnamon cider, and woodsmoke, and a fiddle band played by the church steps while kids darted around hay bales and ponies in wool blankets.
