No Gentle Giant (A Small Town Romance)

“See you after work?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He nuzzles into my hair. “Don’t forget our date.”

My heart thumps.

Oh, yeah. Right. That.

He wants to meet me at the cliffs tonight.

A special date.

And the (in)famous cliffs around Heart’s Edge are known for certain special promises.

I don’t want to get ahead of myself, to expect too much.

But I can’t help wondering...with the way things have been with us lately, and with the words I’ve been aching to say, could it really happen?

Could I dare hope that meeting at the cliff means Paxton Charter wants me in his life forever?

I’m a hot mess by the time I close up The Nest, head home for a shower, dress myself in the prettiest sundress I own, and check in on Eli at the Fords’.

It’s silly, really.

I’ve never been the type to go all mushy for the old romantic traditions of Heart’s Edge.

Everybody knows that story about the star-crossed lovers who’d rather jump off a cliff together into the winds than endure being separated by their family drama.

Honestly, it always seemed kinda depressing, despite the happy spin people put on it as the legends grew about their spirits living on, happy and in love, forever free and together in the hills.

I’ve always told myself I’m too practical for throwing flowers over a cliff and wishing on ghostly affection.

Maybe that’s because I never believed anything I wished for would come true.

Yet somehow, in this moment, as I park along the path winding up to the scenic overlook at the edge of the half-heart cliff, my heart climbs up my throat.

I have everything I could ever ask for, don’t I?

The answers I always needed.

The closure I always craved.

The safety of a life I made, a shop I fought to keep, a family I was able to protect.

A future I never dreamed.

Plus, most importantly, the amazing beast-man I see waiting for me up on the edge of the cliff. His massive, toned shape looks silhouetted against the glowing blue of the deepening night, the Milky Way scattered behind him like diamond dust.

He’s so compelling. I’m drawn to him like there’s an invisible thread between us, a taut chord stretched so tight its tension reels me in. I’m hardly aware of my own movement, coming closer along the path.

Right now, he owns my eyes.

His thick hair billows in wild tufts in the dusky shadows. The wind’s caught it in loving fingers and tosses it away from his noble face.

His crisp black button-down sits on him so casually, highlighting how effortlessly attractive he is.

Everything from the breadth of his mild-wide shoulders to the narrow taper of his waist and the fierce power in long, powerful arms and legs made to hold up the world.

He’s certainly become my own personal Atlas.

He’s looking out over the valley below, his eyes relaxed, his expression so very easy.

I smile, thinking for the hundredth time how his name really suits him.

Paxton.

One glance at him, and you’d think he should be a violent brute.

Instead, he’s the epitome of peace. Calm. Order.

And he’s tamed the storm of my life until those lashing energies became nothing but a spring rain.

Because of him, I’ve bloomed.

I hardly realize I’ve closed the gap between us, moving through the field of wildflowers until I’m surrounded by their sweet scent.

Oh, but they’ve got nothing on the wonderfully minty and masculine scent of Alaska, drawing me ever closer.

As my sandals gently crunch the grass underfoot, he lifts his head, then turns to face me, holding out both hands to me with a warm, smiling offering I can’t resist.

Another step closer, and I’m slipping my hands into his.

There’s a faint chill to the evening from early autumn coming on, but I hardly feel it when his touch ignites me with a heat that starts in my heart and radiates to the tips of my toes.

“Hi,” I say softly.

“About time, beautiful,” he answers—almost mellow, and I can see the rapid beat of his heart in the tick of his pulse against his strong throat. He squeezes my hands, stroking his thumbs against my knuckles. “I’m amazed you came. I know how you feel about things like this.”

Holy Toledo.

Does he have any idea?

“Do you know how I feel about you?” I ask. I don’t know how I haven’t said it in all this time, but...

I’ve been brave about other things.

It’s past time to be brave about this.

Alaska’s eyes widen slightly, dark-mocha gems searching my face. “I’ve got a few big hopes for how you feel. I’m just...you know. Polar bear. Crappy with human words and fluent in grunts and growls.”

I snicker before my nerves take over again.

“Then let me help you,” I whisper. My heart’s in my throat, but it’s a sweet thrill. That’s new. To have my heart racing, my breaths shaky, and not from fear. It’s anticipation, wanting, wonder, hope. I grip his hands. “I love you, Alaska Charter. I think I’ve loved you since the first time you reached for me and made me feel like someone finally saw the real me.”