[POV: Abigail]
The rain had softened to a steady rhythm against the roof, a dull hum that filled the silence of the house. I stood in the middle of my living room, barely aware of my own breathing, my fingers hovering over my lips.
I could still feel him.
Vincent.
His kiss had stolen the breath from my lungs, dragging me under like a riptide I wasn’t strong enough to resist. Even now, my skin burned where his hands had brushed against me, a cruel reminder of everything we once had.
Everything I had lost.
I pressed my fingers harder against my lips, as if I could wipe away the memory, but it was already too late. The past had cracked open like a fault line, and all the moments I had buried came rushing back.
His hands on my skin, the warmth of his body against mine, the way he whispered my name in the dark.
The nights we spent tangled in sheets, wrapped up in promises that had shattered just as easily as the life we had built.
And the night it had led to this.
To my baby.
My heart clenched, and suddenly, the realization hit me with a force that nearly knocked the air from my lungs.
Vincent still doesn’t know.
I had spent months carrying this secret, telling myself that it was better this way. That Vincent had lost the right to be a father the moment he chose someone else over me.
But now… after seeing him, after feeling the raw desperation in his touch, a question settled deep in my chest.
What if I told him?
What if I stepped into the storm and told Vincent Austin that the life we thought was lost had never truly ended?
I hesitated, my fingers tightening into fists at my sides.
He deserved to know, didn’t he?
Didn’t he?
I turned toward the door, my pulse racing.
For the first time since I walked away, the urge to run to him was unbearable. To tell him everything. To give him a chance to choose me again.
I inhaled sharply, reached for the door handle, and yanked it open—
But he wasn’t there.
Instead, Nate stood in the rain, grinning as he held up a small package in his hand.
“Got the thyme!” he announced, shaking the little bundle of herbs as if it were some grand prize. “And before you say it—I know, I know. I’m the greatest man alive for venturing into a storm just for soup.”
His excitement faltered the moment he saw my face.
His smile slipped, replaced by something uncertain, something searching. His eyes flickered over me, and I knew—he could tell.
His voice was softer now. “Were you expecting someone else?”
I blinked, shaking my head quickly. “No.” The lie sat bitter on my tongue, but I forced a tight smile. “I was just worried about you. It’s been raining hard.”
Nate studied me for a moment, his gaze unreadable. Then, his lips curled back into something easy, something light. “See?” He tapped my chin playfully. “You care about me.”
I didn’t answer.
I couldn’t.
Instead, I stepped closer, threading my fingers into the damp fabric of his jacket and pulling him toward me.
His breath hitched in surprise, but he didn’t hesitate.
He let me pull him in, his arms wrapping around my waist as I kissed him.
His lips were warm, steady. There was no desperation in the way he held me, no ghosts of the past clawing between us—just Nate, just this moment.
His hands ran up my arms, his touch gentle, grounding. He didn’t need me to run to him. He had been standing here all along.
The rain soaked his jacket, his hair dripping as he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against mine. “Well,” he murmured, his lips curling in amusement. “This is a much better welcome than I was expecting.”
A laugh slipped past my lips before I could stop it. A real, breathy laugh.
Nate grinned. “Come on, let’s get inside before I catch pneumonia and you feel bad about it forever.”
I let him lead me back inside, closing the door firmly behind us.
As he disappeared into the kitchen, talking about how his soup would change my life, I leaned against the door, exhaling slowly. I could still feel the ghost of Vincent’s touch on my lips. And the worst part is, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to hold onto it—or let it go.