Page 15 of Winter in Kentbury
“You’re amazing, Jenna,” I whisper, my voice filled with a tenderness I haven’t let myself feel in a long time.
I brush a stray hair from her face, marveling at how she looks in the glow of the firelight—her skin warm, her gaze softenedwith something that feels dangerously close to hope. She leans into my touch, closing her eyes, and for a moment, I let myself believe that maybe this is real. Maybe I can be the person she deserves.
“So are you, Holden,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper, like it’s a secret meant only for the two of us. She runs her fingers along my jaw, her touch gentle but grounding, tethering me to this moment, to her.
My hand settles on the small of her back, feeling the rise and fall of her breaths against me, matching the quiet rhythm of my own. I realize, as I hold her, that I’d do anything to protect this—to protect her. To earn her trust, to show her that I’m not the same man who walked away all those years ago. I want to be someone she can rely on, someone who can make up for all the mistakes I’ve made.
“Jenna . . .” I start, my voice thick with all the things I’ve kept buried for years. “I know I don’t deserve this. I know I’ve hurt you, and I’ll never be able to take that back. But I want you to know . . . I’m here. I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere.”
She looks up at me, her eyes shining with unshed tears, and the vulnerability in her expression takes my breath away. She opens her mouth to speak, but instead, she just pulls me down into another kiss, her lips soft and full of promise. In that kiss, I feel everything—her forgiveness, her hope, and something else, something I’m almost afraid to name.
“Holden,” she whispers as we break apart, her forehead resting against mine. “I’m willing to try. To see if we can make this work, if you’re really ready to leave the past behind.”
“I am,” I say, my voice steady. “More than anything, princess.”
A gentle smile tugs at her lips, and she snuggles closer, her body warm and familiar against mine. We lie there in silence, watching the fire dance, letting its warmth fill the room as thestorm rages outside. For once, the storm between us has calmed, leaving a quiet peace I’d never thought I’d find.
And as I hold her, I realize that maybe—just maybe—I’ve found my way back home.
Chapter Nine
Holden
I lie on the couch,Jenna curled up close to my side, her breathing soft and even as she sleeps. There’s a small, contented smile on her face, and I can’t help but reach out, brushing a lockof hair away from her cheek. The temptation to kiss her again tugs at me, but I hold back, knowing that my touch might wake her.
As I watch her, a familiar ache settles in my chest, growing heavier with each heartbeat. The woman lying beside me deserves someone whole, someone good, someone far better than the man I’ve become.
I’ve done things in the military I can’t unsee, can’t undo. There’s a darkness in me that doesn’t belong anywhere near someone like her. She deserves a life of light, not shadows, and certainly not the scars I carry.
But as I look at her, so peaceful, I wonder what I’m supposed to do now. How do I explain that this can’t last, not when everything in me screams to hold on?
Outside, the storm has finally started to ease, the wind quieting as the snow settles in soft drifts. I feel a pang of sadness, knowing that as soon as we leave, this fragile, intimate world we’ve created will vanish. Whatever we have here is ours alone, untouched by the outside world, but I know it can’t last. It never could.
“Hey, princess,” I murmur, my voice gentle as I run a hand along her shoulder. “Time to wake up. The storm has let up. We should head out while we can.”
She stirs, stretching, her eyes slowly blinking open as she takes in my face. A sleepy smile touches her lips, and I can’t resist smiling back even though everything inside me aches. I can’t let her see the turmoil, can’t let her see how much I want to stay here in this moment with her forever.
“Oh, is it morning? The storm is finally letting up?” she asks, rubbing her eyes as she sits up. “Maybe I’ll actually get the flowers to the venue on time after all.”
She stands, grabbing her clothes, and heads to the bathroom to get dressed. I move around the room, gathering our things,picking up her scarf from the floor, and memories of what we shared last night flooding my mind, each one more vivid than the last.
The way she felt, the way she tasted, the sound of her voice whispering my name—God, I want her again. But I know better. I can’t give in to that need. She deserves more than what I can give her.
While she’s in the bathroom, I slip outside, shoveling a path from the front door to the truck, clearing out as much snow as I can. The roads will still be a mess, but at least I can make sure we’ll be able to pull out of the driveway. I finish the path just as she steps out, dressed and ready to go, her face softened with a look I can’t quite read.
Does she regret it, or is she as reluctant as I am to leave this strange, stolen time we had together?
We climb into the truck, and she settles into her seat, her gaze fixed out the window. The silence between us is heavy, weighted with everything we haven’t said, everything we felt in that house but are too afraid to put into words now. I feel her pulling away, the distance growing as the miles tick by, and it hurts more than I can admit. I want to reach out, to say something to bridge the gap, but I don’t even know where to begin.
“Thank you, Holden,” she says softly, her voice barely louder than the hum of the engine. “For everything.”
Something about the way she says it hits me hard, like a goodbye wrapped in polite gratitude. I want to shake her, to tell her that this doesn’t have to be the end, that there’s more here if she’ll just give it a chance. But I stay silent, my grip tightening on the steering wheel. I glance at her from the corner of my eye, noticing the way she presses herself against the door, her gaze never wavering from the passing scenery. She’s retreating,walling herself off, and I don’t know if I’ll ever break through again.
Finally, I clear my throat, breaking the silence. “Jenna . . . I need you to know something.”
She glances at me, her eyes guarded, as if she’s bracing herself for whatever I’m about to say. “What is it?”
I take a deep breath, the words sticking in my throat. “I don’t know if I’ve ever been good at this, at saying what I mean. But I need you to know that what happened last night . . . it wasn’t just a moment for me. It was . . . everything. And I want you to understand, even if I don’t deserve you, that I’ve wanted this—I’ve wanted you—for a long time.”
