I’d gone bungee-jumping once. It was on a trip to California, and I could still remember the heady scent of the forest, the sharp sounds of the birds surrounding the gorge, and the gentle humid breeze that slowly swayed the trees around us.

I had been terrified. It was an all-encompassing, bone-deep fear, standing at the top of that gorge, peering off the edge, knowing that soon I’d be plummeting downward into it. It took a good few minutes of pep talks and encouragement before I could even do it—I’d gone up there with brash bravado, talking big game, and acting like it would be no problem to jump off and go hurtling through the air.

Actually being up there was something else entirely. There was no escaping the reality in front of me: nothing but a huge stretch of air.

But once I did it—fully committed, went for it, and leapt off—there was nothing in the world that could compare.

Up here on the roof, in the minutes leading up to my taking Ryan’s hand in my own, I had felt some version of that fear.

I’d wanted it—God, I had wanted it all night. I wanted it and so much more—every time I let my gaze fall on Ryan’s lips, the delicate curve of his neck, his hands, I’d felt that urge, that unceasing tug toward him.

Still, I held back. I couldn’t bear the thought of it. If I gave in, if I did what I really wanted to do, if I trusted him like that, what would happen? I knew I wasn’t a long-term option for Ryan, and fuck, the fact that the phrase “long-term option” was even running through my head was enough to send me into a panic spiral.

But being around Ryan made me feel things that I didn’t normally feel.

And so I’d done it, after so much deliberation, after so much holding back. I’d reached out and done the stupidly simple thing of just taking his hand in mine.

Despite all the self-defeating logic that ran on a loop in my head, the moment I felt him squeezing back against my hand, I knew it had been the right decision.

For a while, I was actually nervous in a way I hadn’t been since high school. I had goddamn butterflies in my chest, even though I was a grown man. So I was eternally grateful when Ryan broke the silence that had expanded between us after I’d started to hold his hand.

“I’m different, huh?” he said, looking over at me. “Different good, I hope?”

I puffed out a laugh. “Obviously,” I said. “I mean… don’t take this the wrong way, but when I first met you, I kind of thought you might be like every other business-type guy who moves to Rose Falls.”

“As far as I can tell, there really aren’t that many business types in this town,” he said.

I hummed. “Definitely not. There aren’t that many here, but that means they stick out like a sore thumb. They sometimes come here trying to commodify art or start some new glossy restaurant concept, and usually it fails. It’s all so boring.”

“Well, one thing is for sure, my job has nothing to do with art.”

“…And you’re not boring at all.”

He drew in a breath and let out a long, relaxed sigh. “I’m glad someone thinks so. I’ve had plenty of failed online dates that didn’t agree with that.”

I lifted an eyebrow. “You have had trouble dating? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Yup. I’ve had people just point-blank tell me they can’t be with someone so uptight.”

“Direct,” I said.

“Had another person tell me they just ‘couldn’t picture being intimate with me.’ That one kind of stung.”

I rolled my eyes. “I don’t even know if I can believe that.”

“What?”

“Someone not wanting to be intimate with you? You look like a damn model, and you’re all… I don’t know, flirty and stuff.”

Ryan laughed as if he was actually surprised to hear it. To me, it seemed obvious.

“Well, tell that to the guy who said I seemed too frigid to be intimate with.”

I clicked my tongue. “Clearly they don’t know how good of a blow job you give,” I said. I bit my lower lip after I said it as if I could somehow take back the words, but they were already out in the open.

Ryan paused for a moment, smiling lightly, and suddenly I became very aware again of his hand in mine.

“That was a fun night,” he said softly. “Y’know, before all the awful yelling and misunderstanding and unpleasantness.”

It had been a while since we’d even acknowledged the existence of that night. My heart rate spiked slightly at the mention of it, and I didn’t know if it was due to anxiety or just excitement.

“I am so glad you don’t completely regret it,” I said.

“What? Of course I don’t,” he said. “If anything, I thought you did.”

I cleared my throat. “At first I did, a little,” I said. “But not anymore.”

He turned his head a little more, looking at me directly. “I… didn’t want to tell you at the time, but you actually helped me fulfill a lifelong fantasy that night.”

“I did?” I asked, a smile creeping onto my face. “I am going to choose to take that as a huge compliment.”

“It is a compliment. I always saw people on TV shows and in movies sneaking off to have covert sex in supply closets, but I never knew if people actually did it in real life.”

“…And now you can proudly say you’ve done it,” I said. “The holy grail of supply closet sex.”

“Thanks to you,” he said with a laugh. “I’m glad you don’t regret it, even though the events afterward were definitely regrettable.”

I shook my head. “I don’t regret it at all.” How could I possibly regret it, now that I’d gotten some distance from it? The bitterness of the misunderstanding had faded away completely, and all I remembered now was the warm slick of his mouth, his hands around my waist, his cock between my lips. I felt myself responding to just the memory, my cock straining up against my jeans. I cleared my throat. “I’ve thought about it a lot, actually,” I said.

It wasn’t something that I would have said to Ryan even just an hour ago, but since we’d come up here onto the roof, it felt like something had cracked between us, and I couldn’t be anything but honest with him. I had to be honest. I respected him too much not to be.

I saw his eyes widen just slightly. “You think about it?” he said.

I nodded, watching him. “I broke one of my own rules that night.”

“Which one?”

“I swore I wouldn’t hook up with anyone at a wedding again.”

“So why did you?” he asked, squeezing his hand around mine just slightly.

I swallowed, pausing for a moment as I wondered how to answer his question. “I think you know why,” I said, my voice low.

“Tell me,” he said.

I let out a slow shudder of breath, briefly squeezing my eyes shut before opening them and meeting his soft gaze again. “Because I wanted you,” I said. I lifted my head a little, looking down at the very clear and obvious tent in my pants, the outline of my cock pressing right up against the fabric. “Kinda still do,” I said.

His eyes fluttered downward. He saw it. I wasn’t exactly trying to hide it.

He released my hand from his. Fuck. I knew I’d gone too far. This was where he would get up, politely thank me for the evening, and go home.

But instead, he just shifted his position and nodded downward. I saw then that he had grown just as hard as I had—even more if that was possible—and he looked back up to give me a sheepish grin.

“I think about it too,” he said.

And then I’d taken his hand in mine again, grasping it so much tighter than I had been before. He brought my hand up toward his mouth, just inches away, and I could feel his warm breath on the back of my hand. He was about to press his lips against my skin, but he was eyeing me as if he was waiting for permission.

I wanted so badly to give him that permission.

“Ryan,” I whispered, “we don’t have to do this if—if you don’t want—”

His lips pressed onto the back of my hand, dry and hot and so soft. It was the smallest gesture, but it flooded warmth throughout my whole body, radiating downward. I let out the littlest moan of surprise, followed by a slow sigh.

He kissed down from the back of my hand, bringing my wrist to his mouth, pressing his lips to the soft skin on the underside.

This was what I remembered.

I’d been with so many people in my adult life, but this—this was a tenderness that had been totally unique to Ryan, something he’d given me long before he even knew if I deserved it. He’d shown me glimpses of this side of him even in a dark and dingy supply closet, and now here on the roof under the stars, it was even more unreal.

He brought my hand down and slowly shifted until he was right next to me on the roof, lying at my side, and the heat of his body pressed right against mine. He pressed his hand to my chest, slowly moving it up, gliding along until he reached my shoulder, my neck, and then finally cupped my cheek in his hand.

“Is this okay, Emmett?” he said, his voice a low rumble. “You tell me if you need me to stop.”

“Please don’t stop,” I said, my voice weak.

“Good,” he said, “Because I don’t want to.”

I swore under my breath as I reached out, lacing my fingers into his hair, and pulled him toward me and pressed my lips to his.

The moan he made against my lips was so vulnerable and so thrilling. He relaxed onto me, returning the kiss, wrapping a hand tight around my hip. I could still taste the sweet-sour bite of lime on him as he pulled my lip gently in between his own.

I had been trying so hard since the night of the wedding to pretend I didn’t want this, to act like I didn’t care what happened between us, to deny it even from myself. But the truth was all right here as we kissed; the way Ryan touched me wasn’t something I could ignore.

It didn’t just feel like a hookup that I’d enjoy and toss away the following day. It felt like something had shifted, like I’d allowed him to access a part of my heart that I’d figured was long since dead. As he opened his mouth to mine, I noticed how perfectly our bodies fit together, even up here on the roof, lying on our sides and clinging against one another anywhere that we could.

When we broke the kiss to catch our breath, and he pressed dozens more tiny kisses against my cheekbone, my temple, and to my ear, I turned slightly and felt the outline of his cock push up against my leg.

“Mmh,” I murmured against him, gripping the side of his body. I was breathing heavily when he met my eyes. “Come back downstairs with me,” I said. He nodded, but after a brief pause bent to kiss me again as if he couldn’t even wait another minute to touch me again.

Finally, he pulled back. I ran my hand through his hair, just silently watching him for a moment, in disbelief that this was real, that this was happening, that it wasn’t a far-fetched dream.

We scaled back down the ladder to the balcony, and for the first time ever I found myself taking the steps slowly, so carefully—because I was trembling, and the last thing I needed was to fall off a ladder and break a bone at that moment. Ryan followed after me, and when I waited for him on the balcony, it suddenly seemed as if it were twice as cold outside. I missed his touch, and I knew that my shaking was a combination of being cold, nerves, and finally admitting to myself that this was something I desperately wanted. That he was something I desperately wanted.

It was kind of unavoidable now.

When I opened the door to my room and started to walk inside, he slipped his hands around my waist from behind, pressing up against me, his chest touching my back, hips along mine, and his cock pressing up right against the cleft of my ass.

I let out a strangled moan. It felt so good I could barely process it, and I stopped for a moment, halfway into the room, in the middle of the threshold in between inside and outside. I shuddered once even more fiercely than before.

“Emmett,” Ryan whispered, a note of concern in his voice. His hands gripped tighter around my body, and I paused. “You’re shaking. Are you alright?”

I let out a breath, nodding my head probably a little too quickly. “I’m good. So good. I—I—” I heard my own teeth chatter as I started to speak.

What the fuck was this? I was shivery, stammering—it had been cold outside, sure, but not compared to how the past few days had been.

Ryan gave me a gentle push, encouraging me to go inside, and he shut the balcony door behind us. We stood in the dark quiet of my room for a moment, waiting, his arms still wrapped around me as I gently shook. He didn’t even move, just stayed there pressed up against me, warm and steady. I could feel his even breath against me—not a hint of shivering from him—and it was like a beacon reminding me that everything was fine.

“Just got a little too cold out there?” he asked, his voice soft behind me.

I puffed out a breath. “Uh,” I said, “yeah… and overwhelmed, I guess.” It felt stupid to even say it. Why should I have been overwhelmed? How many people had I kissed before, how many hookups had I been involved in, and yet now I was freaking out like some virginal teenager?

I felt my cheeks heating and was grateful that the room was dark and he was behind me. If he could see how much this was affecting me, how much he was affecting me, I think I would have fully lost it.

“Emmett, do you need me to leave?” he said in a low, even voice.

A jolt of something like terror shot through me, and my hands flew up to grip against his arms, holding them tight against me. “No,” I said. “No,” I repeated with a much softer tone. The thought of being alone right now was almost too much to bear.

I was always alone, here. Just me and the apartment. I couldn’t live with the shame if he’d had to leave just because of some stupid, shaky bout of anxiety that had come over me.

“Okay, okay,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m—sorry, I just… please don’t go,” I choked out. “I just need… I don’t know what I need.”

His chin gently rested down on my shoulder, and I let out a slow sigh. “Where’s your bathroom?” he asked.

That certainly hadn’t been the question I’d been expecting.

“Jesus,” I said, puffing out a harsh, nervous laugh. “You’ve been standing there, having to pee the whole time, and I’m just being a colossal freak.” I released his arms from my tight grip. “I’m so sorry. It’s literally just outside my bedroom door, to the right.”

“Good,” he said and started slowly pushing me forward, his arms still wrapped around me from behind.

“What?” I said, not understanding. But he didn’t let me go. Instead, he led me to the bathroom, fumbling in the dark for the light, and then turning it on. He let go of me, and my disappointment at the loss of his warm weight was only mitigated by my confusion. I slowly turned until I was facing him and saw that he was reaching into the shower, turning it on hot. Steam started to collect in the cool air almost immediately, filling the small room with its heat.

I almost thought I had been done with my freakish bout of shivering until he met my eyes again.

A shudder ran through me as he looked up at me, eyes slate-blue and devastating, the confirmation of every terrifying thought I’d had that night: I wanted him, in a very serious way, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

“I think this will take away the chill,” he said, nodding back to the steady stream of the shower. “It’s always been the best way to heat up, in my opinion.”

My heart soared. He was such a caretaker—we’d been on the fast track to what I thought would be sex, but here he was, putting all of that on hold to make sure I was comfortable.

“Thank you,” I said, already noticing that my shuddering was lessening. I didn’t bother telling him that it was as much from the cold night air as it was just from him. I turned away slightly, suddenly shy as I slipped off my jacket and my shirt. “If you want to have some tea or more gin and tonic, you’re free to—I’ve got all kinds of different teas in the cabinet above the counter—I’m sure I won’t be long in here.”

When I’d slipped off the top half of my clothes, though, I turned back around to see that he had done the same, and was now working off his shoes and socks.

“What?” he said, glancing up at me. “Are you kidding? I’m not leaving you even for a second.”

“You’re not?” I said weakly, a touch of that utterly confusing overwhelmed feeling falling over me again.

He furrowed his brow, one corner of his lips hiking up in the ghost of a smile. “Are you crazy? You told me you didn’t want me to leave, and I’m not leaving.”

In one fell swoop, he undid his pants, stripped them off with his underwear, and he was standing there completely nude.

“Besides,” he said, stepping over to the shower, “I was a little chilly out there, too.”

He disappeared into the shower, and my heart started racing again—but this time, it didn’t feel like a nervous heartbeat so much as an oh shit, I can’t fucking believe how much I enjoy being around this person heartbeat.

I quickly finished undressing and stepped into the shower alongside him, unable to stop myself from raking my eyes over his body, his muscles taut and glistening wet under the shower.

My cock had gone down, somewhere in between descending from the roof and shaking like an idiot in Ryan’s arms, but seeing him here, like this, in the warm cocoon of the shower, I started responding again instantly.

“Here,” he said as soon as I stepped in, shuffling to the side so I could stand under the stream. As we switched places, our bodies brushed against one another, and he stood behind me as I stepped into the hot water.

It was perfect. My skin and muscles relaxed for the first time in what felt like hours, under the pounding of the water, and after a few moments, I realized I was no longer shaking at all. I peeked behind me and saw that Ryan had grabbed my body wash. He held it up.

“May I?” he asked, watching me with a soft gaze. I looked down—he had become hard again, too, and my cock throbbed involuntarily.

I nodded. “Yes,” I said. “Please, yes.”

A few moments later, I felt his hands on my shoulders, lathering me, somewhere between washing and massage. My eyes fluttered shut as his hands worked against me, kneading in between my shoulder blades before slowly moving down the muscles that flanked my spine.

I gave myself over to him completely, and my world was reduced to pure sensation: just the firm pressure of his hands against my back, kneading away the tension, and the deliciously warm water against my skin.

“You’re gorgeous, Emmett,” he muttered as his hands reached my hips, massaging just above my ass, and when my eyes opened, I looked down to see that I was dripping from my cock. I shifted slightly, leaning forward so that I could place a hand on the wall, relaxing forward.

Ryan let out a long sigh as his hands moved to my ass, lathering me there, his fingers slipping between my cheeks in long, slow movements. I swallowed hard, feeling my cock pulse every time his fingers slid over my hole, the water washing away all the lather that he’d cleaned me with.

I moaned involuntarily when his slick hands slid down a little further, reaching forward and sliding steadily across my balls. After he’d worked me into a state of deep relaxation with his massage, the feeling of his fingers against me down lower was heightened, and Lord was I ready for it. As I leaned forward against the wall, he shifted, and then his breath was against my hip. He had gotten down on his knees.

I knew what was coming next—at least I hoped I knew—but that didn’t make it any less incredible when he gently parted me from behind, and his warm tongue slid over me. I groaned loudly, leaning into the touch, my cock so hard that I thought I was in danger of coming right then, even untouched.

I stepped apart slightly, allowing him more room, wanting to give him as much as he needed. The water was already warm, but his tongue was something else completely, gentle but firm against me, laying slow stripes from my balls up to the base of my spine.

“Fuck,” I whispered, the word fading away into the steam of the shower. It shouldn’t have been surprising that Ryan took as much care with this as he did every time he touched me—whether it was just holding my hand or him tonguing against me, it always felt like I was the most important thing in his world.

I couldn’t possibly deserve it, but against all odds, it was mine.

I was almost glad when he worked his mouth upward again, kissing slow and wet along my hip, then up my spine, and then to the back of my neck. I wanted this to last, at least a little bit longer, and if he’d stayed down there, I could have come at a moment’s notice.

But still, his mouth against the soft skin at the crook of my neck was too good. I felt safe under his touch, like I trusted him with my body. I realized that between him and the hot water, all of my anxiety had floated away, replaced with an inexplicable gentle tenderness layered with raw lust.

It wasn’t a combination I was used to. It was a heady mix, intoxicating, and I craved it fiercely.

My hand stayed gripped against my own thigh, so close to my cock—I wanted badly to wrap my fist around myself, to finally get that relief, to come so hard in what would assuredly be only a few strokes. But I hesitated. I held back.

Ryan slipped his arms around my waist, turning me gently until I was facing him. I leaned back, and he stepped forward toward me until I was pressed between him and the shower wall.

He was as rock hard as I was, and as he pushed forward against me, our cocks slipped against one another.

I let out a broken whimper. It was dizzying, looking up at his eyes, still as caring as before but now with a clear hunger in them that I’m sure was in my own, too. He began to rock his hips forward, and our cocks slid hot against one another—a tease, a pantomime of sex, so close to what I wanted but not nearly enough.

“Fuck, Ryan,” I said as I looked at him, my eyes half-lidded. “I’ve wanted this so fucking badly.”

I saw his eyes widen, just briefly, before falling back into their fixed smolder again. “You have?” he asked, still rocking his hips forward.

“God, of course I have,” I said, my voice cracking slightly. He groaned, then reached a hand down between us, firmly wrapping his fist around both of our cocks. The tightness was mind-blowing, was what I’d been aching for, and it was made doubly better by the fact that my length was pressed right up along his own.

“I have too,” he whispered as he started to stroke us both, placing his free hand on the shower wall right next to my head. He was everything in my field of vision, my whole world, and I hipped up into his tight fist. “God, you look so fucking incredible, Emmett.”

His face almost looked pained as he kept stroking us in a steady rhythm, and I reached upward, wrapping my hand around the back of his neck, pulling his face toward mine.

“Kiss me,” I said, and he pressed his lips to mine, letting out a moan as I buried my fingers in his hair.

“Fuck,” he uttered against my lips, pulling back with a hint of terror in his eyes. His pace slowed, and his fist loosened just slightly.

“Oh my God, Ryan, don’t stop—” I said.

“I’m so—I’m way too fucking close, Emmett—” he said, furrowing his brow.

I reached down between us, batting his hand away and wrapping my own hand around us, picking up right where he had left off.

“Then come for me,” I said, holding his gaze. “Because I am so close, too.”

“Fuck,” he hissed, “Just like that. You are so good, Emmett.”

He was breathing heavily, and he now placed his hand back on the shower wall, and the other cupping my cheek. I turned my head slightly, wrapping my lips around his thumb, pulling it inside my mouth and sucking hard.

“Oh God,” he said loudly, losing control. “So much. I’m gonna come, Emmett—” he groaned loudly, and I felt his cock pulsing against mine as he came, shooting white stripes up and over onto my hand, my cock, onto my stomach. Watching him lose control like that, with his thumb still between my lips, short-circuited my brain in an instant.

“Mmh,” I moaned around him. It was so much—he was fucking beautiful, coming for me, coming onto me—and I lost control, squeezing my cock in my fist, and feeling my orgasm roll through me. I came, moaning around his finger in my mouth, and then it was impossible to tell what was his and what was my own, slowly washing away in the shower as he collapsed forward, sliding his hand away from my mouth and wrapping his arms around me.

I breathed heavily, letting my eyes flutter shut and gave into the sensation of the bulk of him pressed against me, both of us catching our breath.

When he leaned back again, and I could look in his eyes, he was utterly blissful. He kissed me, slow and soft and sweet, as I skated my hands down his back.

“You’re amazing,” he said, pulling back just a little. He looked drunk, though I knew the alcohol had faded for both of us a long time ago. It was beautiful, seeing him panting and breathless, a man who was usually so alert and put-together.

We separated and both turned to rinse off before stepping out of the shower. I thanked God I’d done the laundry recently, pulling a clean towel out of the bathroom closet and handing it over to him.

We dried off in silence—it felt natural, not at all awkward, but I was still surprised that after I hung my towel up, he wrapped his arms around me once again.

“Thank you for that, Emmett,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to my temple. He held me for a few moments, and I realized with a rush that I was exhausted. He must have been too, waking up so early to go for a run. The alcohol and the sex had taken everything out of me, and wrapped in his arms, I had to work not to fall asleep every time I blinked.

When he leaned back, I saw the slightest hesitation in his eyes as he reached back to scratch his neck. “I guess I should… be heading back,” he said before bending to pick up his shirt.

I lightly rested my fingers against his wrist, shaking my head. “You can stay,” I said, “if you want to.”

It was bold, and a little risky, but what did I have to lose at that moment?

He lifted an eyebrow, and I nodded.

“You sure?” he asked. Clearly it wasn’t something he had at all expected me to say.

And he was right—it was something I never really did, especially not in my own house. I’d slept over at other people’s houses after hookups, but it was always inevitably awkward the next morning, and often I’d try to slip out early, before dawn.

I didn’t usually even bring hookups to my house, let alone invite them to sleep over. But with Ryan, as always, everything was different.

I nodded. “I want you to stay,” I said, reaching out and running my hand over his bare hip.

A small smile played across his lips. “You have no idea how happy that makes me,” he said before looking down at the floor and adding, “Because I’m way too damn tired to go home right now.”

“Don’t worry about the clothes,” I said, waving a hand at the pile. “We can get them later.”

I opened the bathroom door and crossed back into my bedroom. I hastily grabbed the two books that were lying on the opposite side of the bed, and I picked up the pillow, fluffing it. I fixed the fitted sheet and smoothed out the comforter, hurriedly tidying up.

When I turned back around, he was watching me, standing in the doorframe, nude, with a small smile on his face. Fucking perfect, every last inch of him. It almost felt unfair that I got to have him in my apartment at all, let alone that soon he’d be in my bed.

“What?” I asked, peering at his smirk.

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

I cracked a smile. “Okay, yes, I get it,” I said. “So what, I don’t usually have anyone over on that side of the bed,” I said.

“So what that means is that I’m special,” he said as he walked over and neatly pulled back the sheets, and tucked in underneath. It was almost maddeningly adorable, seeing him like that, so snuggled in my bed. He looked like he should be the person in the damn furniture catalog, an example of what people would want lying in bed next to them, in an ideal world.

It was incongruous seeing that in my room. I was just a barista bumbling his way through life. I realized too late that I was standing there like an idiot, just staring at him, partially slackjawed.

“You alright, Emmett?” he asked.

I sighed, shaking my head. “There really must be something wrong with me. I feel like you’ve asked me if I’m alright so many times tonight.”

“Well, I want to make sure that you are,” he said, sincerity in his voice.

“Oh,” I said, blinking. “Yeah. I’m alright. It’s just… you… in my bed.”

“You don’t like me in your bed?”

I snorted. It was so preposterous that I had to laugh. “Are you fucking kidding? I love that you’re in my bed,” I said, getting in on the other side and turning out the light. “It makes it a whole lot warmer.” And you make me feel safe and protected in ways I couldn’t possibly deserve yet.

I could already feel his body heat, but the moment I settled in bed, he rolled over onto his side, draping an arm and leg against me.

“So you don’t do wedding hookups, you don’t invite people over to your house, and you don’t let them sleep over…” Ryan murmured. “Guess I just make you break all your rules, huh?”

He had no idea how right he was.

His breathing fell soft against me as he started to drift to sleep, and just as soon after I felt myself nodding off, too. Every moment felt like I was living somebody else’s life—somebody totally, utterly lucky.

* * *

My chest was tight. Painfully tight—like someone was stepping right on me, and my breathing was coming too short, my windpipe just wasn’t big enough—

I jolted awake in bed, a sheen of sweat on my body. I blinked, rapid-fire, my heart slamming in my chest. I was disoriented. It was dark—still night—and I sat up silently, clutching my chest, looking over to the other side of the bed.

Ryan was still there. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, really—I didn’t expect that he would just get up and leave—but I felt like I’d been dreaming for ages, and I was bewildered to see that it had really only been a few hours. He was sleeping soundly on the other side of the bed, curled up and cozy, but I felt like I was about to descend straight into panic.

I focused on the photograph that hung just across from my bed—a calming one, one my dad had taken of the waterfalls, and I’d framed and matted years ago. Everything felt like it was spinning, but the photograph was a beacon of stillness in the dull light.

The dreams had not been good. There had been garden-variety anxiety ones first—ones where I was running to work late, wading through sand, couldn’t find my car in a big parking lot.

But then another, even more vivid dream had started. At first, it was almost pleasant; I’d been at a huge amusement park with Ryan and his baby. It was a sunny day, and at one point Ryan had stopped at an ice cream stand to get cones for the both of us. I waited at a bench, watching over Anna, making sure her stroller wasn’t in the direct sunlight.

She was so perfect, so adorable in the dream. I felt a tenderness for her that shook me to my core—almost as if I were a caretaker for her, as if I wanted to make sure she grew up safe and sound.

Ryan called out to me from the ice cream stand—asking if I wanted chocolate, vanilla, or swirl—and I turned just for a moment to answer him.

When I’d turned back around, Anna’s stroller was gone. Raw panic seared through me quick as lightning, and I shot up from the bench, craning my head from side to side, searching for who could have taken her.

But in the dream, no one else was around. Anna was just gone—she’d been in my care for all of two minutes, and I had lost her. I had failed. As I was running around frantically in the dream, I felt my chest start to constrict, felt that boot-like weight upon my throat.

That’s when I’d woken up.

And now I was sitting in bed, reliving the whole thing again, feeling like I was going to explode if I didn’t calm the fuck down.

I slipped out of bed, trying to be as slow and soundless as possible. I grabbed a pair of sweatpants on top of my dresser and then crossed over to the balcony door. It made the smallest creak as I opened it, and I turned back to make sure Ryan hadn’t woken, but he was still in the same position, breathing evenly as before.

When I got outside, it was cold as all hell, but it felt like a balm against my heated skin. I stepped out to the edge of the balcony, leaning against the railing, squeezing my eyes shut and sucking in deep breaths of chilly air. The town was silent below—it was the quietest part of the day, just before sunrise on a Sunday morning. I could hear one bird that had just begun to chirp its morning song.

I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, worrying it as I tried to forget the awful dream.

But even as it slowly started to fade from my memory, the anxiety stuck around. Because it had never really been about the dream, anyway—I knew what it was, so obvious, sticking out like a sore thumb.

It was my subconscious telling me that I didn’t fit with Ryan, that I couldn’t possibly be right for him, that I was stupid for even entertaining our little fling beyond a wedding hookup that shouldn’t have happened in the first place.

I’d known it when I was awake, of course, I had just suppressed it so much, ignored it because I ignored everything when I was looking in his eyes. Everything had felt different, magical, wonderful earlier when my brain had been in a lust-drunk haze fueled by alcohol and the fucking incessant desire that I had for Ryan.

But that was all gone now, like a spell that had shattered.

Ryan wasn’t just someone I could toy with, have my fun, and drop when I felt like it. He was too good for that. Too good for me. I knew full well he had expectations that didn’t exist in my world—he’d told me from day one that he wanted marriage, wanted commitment, wanted everything.

But I sure as hell wasn’t dad material. I was nothing that he needed, other than good sex.

Maybe he got some thrill out of hanging out with someone as immature as I was—sure, it was fun living the “bachelor” life for a short time, but soon he would realize that this was just the way things were for me. It didn’t get any better than this; no more complexity, no more anything.

I felt a sharp sting against the palm of my hand and realized that I’d been gripping the wooden banister so tight that I’d given myself a splinter. I looked down and in the pale moonlight, gently took it out.

A minute later the faintest bit of grey-blue light was starting to peek up over the edge of the horizon—the sun was rising, and it would be light out in probably just a few minutes.

After a few more deep breaths, my chest had stopped feeling constricted, but I was resolute.

I knew I was going to have to end things with Ryan at some point. There was just no other way. I didn’t want to get his hopes up, didn’t want to get my hopes up, for something that I knew I wasn’t cut out for to begin with.

I was sure he would understand, too—there was no one he loved more than his daughter, and he would know that to put her first, he needed to not be around someone like me.

I was a thirty-two-year-old who still regularly got hangovers. Who had no long-term career prospects. Who still hooked up with strangers all the time, at least until recently, when I’d inexplicably not been interested in anyone but Ryan. And I sure as hell had no idea how to raise a child.

I had to let Ryan down, sooner rather than later. It ached just to think about it—he was the first person I’d had feelings for in a long time, and they’d come on ridiculously fast and sudden.

All I could hope was that he would forget about me just as fast as he’d gotten involved with me.

As the sun began to rise in earnest, I snuck quietly back inside through the door and then made my way to the bathroom to wash my hand where the splinter had been. When I went back into my room, though, the first light of the day was coming through my curtains, and I saw that Ryan’s eyes were open. He looked tired, but he was awake, propping his head up with his arm as I entered the room.

“Hey,” he said, his voice all raspy with sleep in an irresistible way.

I bit the inside of my cheek, swearing at myself internally. Irresistible. I had to stop thinking about him like that.

“Good morning,” I said, keeping my voice even.

“What’s up?” Ryan asked, genuine concern falling over his face.

“Did I wake you? I’m sorry. You can keep sleeping a while longer, God, you’ve gotta be exhausted—” I stopped short, cutting off my rambling.

He shook his head. “Nope. I’m fine. I usually wake up around now to go for a run anyway, or Anna wakes me up even earlier. You don’t have to worry about me, Emmett.”

I nodded, hanging there in silence for a moment, staring over at the wall while he stretched luxuriantly.

“Come back to bed?” he asked, his voice low, almost sultry.

I met his eyes, swallowing, and walked over to sit at the edge of the bed, looking at him over my shoulder. There was so much on my mind, but here in the bedroom in the calm, blue light, it hardly seemed like the right time and place. He reached his hand up and ran it along my back—as always, he was so much warmer than me, and his touch felt exquisite.

“Jesus, you’re cold,” he said. “Were you outside?”

“Uh, yeah,” I said.

He shifted in the bed, sitting up, moving down so that he was at my side. “Emmett, what’s wrong?”

“I told you, nothing is wrong,” I said, but there was an edge to my voice that clearly said otherwise.

He leaned the side of his body against mine. “Last night you got so relaxed,” he said, “the most I’ve ever seen you relax, actually. But now you’re… you’re in peak Emmett Freakout mode.”

I met his eyes, arching an eyebrow at him. “How do you know what my peak freakout mode is? Ryan, I think now would be a good time to remind you that I’ve only known you for like, a week,” I said, annoyed with the bitterness in my tone.

“Sure, yeah, that is true,” he said, “but first of all, I’m a great judge of character, and second of all, I kinda, sorta feel like I’ve gotten a good impression of you. We’ve moved pretty damn fast.”

“We really have,” I said, turning toward him, giving him a hard look.

He blinked a couple times. “I was going to say that despite how fast we’ve moved, I really am starting to feel a connection with you,” he said, “but now… I’m thinking that might not be such a good idea.”

Fucking hell. He was going to destroy me. I bit my lip, looking away from his eyes, looking at anything else so that maybe I would stand a chance at not melting and telling him he could do whatever he wanted with me.

When I looked at him, that was all I felt. I really trusted him—and of course he was right, it was completely incredible how much of a connection I felt with him, regardless of how quickly it had occurred. I could try as hard as I wanted to deny it, but at the end of the day, I couldn’t lie to myself.

He must have sensed that I was having a miniature civil war inside my own head. He lifted his hand up again and pressed it against my back, running it up and down, in a slow and steady motion.

“Jesus Christ, I am sorry,” I said, puffing out a slow, sad laugh. “You had to deal with me being all freaked out and shivery last night, and now look at me,” I said. I willed myself to look straight at him again. “I’m fucking overwhelmed, Ryan,” I said. “There’s no other way to put it. And—of course, I feel a… a connection with you. But I don’t know if I should.”

He nodded silently, just holding my gaze for a while as his hand ran along my back, calming and ever-present. “I understand,” he said finally, with one little nod.

“So…” I said, thinking that I was going to make some grander statement, but finding myself unable to complete the thought.

“So,” he said, “we can take it a little bit slower, then.” He sounded very matter-of-fact about it, like he was negotiating a business deal, purposely calm. But I could sense the emotion behind his words.

“Ryan, I don’t even know if I can.”

He paused for a moment, and we sat there listening to the birds chattering excitedly just outside the window.

“How about this,” he said, his hand reaching up and smoothing through my hair. “I’ve got this thing I have to go to on Wednesday night. I have to warn you, it’ll be boring—it’s a social mixer I signed up for when I first moved to Rose Falls. I thought it would help me meet other young professionals.”

I groaned audibly.

“But,” he said, holding up a finger. “There will be a ton of free food and booze, and I have a plus-one ticket that I wasn’t going to use. We can go, hang out, gorge ourselves on chocolate-covered strawberries, and that’ll be all. The babysitter will expect me home by ten o’clock.”

I met his eyes, hesitating. It was the kind of event I’d usually immediately say no to—it wasn’t my crowd, and I really had no business being there. But it also felt like it might be the perfect thing to do. There was no way a social mixer full of young professionals would make me feel sexually charged, and I wanted to find out if my feelings for Ryan really were just dumb lust or… something more.

I didn’t know which option was worse.

“You sure they wouldn’t mind someone like me coming?” I asked.

“What?” he said. “I can’t say I know exactly what you mean by that, but… of course not. You’ll be my plus-one.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. I knew it was meant to make me feel better, but being referred to as his plus-one, or anyone’s plus-one, was weird for me.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything, Emmett,” he said softly, squeezing my shoulder.

“You could tell I was freaking out, huh?”

He nodded. “I’m getting kind of good at picking up on that.”

I snorted. “Yeah, because I’ve done it like ten times since meeting you,” I said. “I’m a wreck, aren’t I?”

“I don’t know if you’re a wreck, but maybe… a hot mess,” he said, one side of his mouth quirking into a grin.

“You asshole,” I said, but I couldn’t help but smile, too. I was still raw from the rude awakening that morning, but I couldn’t deny how much better Ryan had made me feel.

Of course, I knew that yet again, I’d failed to break things off with him entirely.

But when I looked into his eyes, I couldn’t help but have hope.