A few months ago, Gabriel and I had sat on the shores of Lake Michigan and talked about our dream vacation homes, places we’d go to get away from the city and Cainsville and all they entailed. Mine had been a cabin on the lake, where I could read and relax on the deck. That’s what Gabriel had found for me.

After dinner, we sat on the back deck, watching the waves. The sun had dropped, taking any warmth with it. We had a fire roaring inside and the chalet radiators jacked up, with the rear windows and door wide open to let that heat flood out. We sat right on the deck, in a nest of every blanket and pillow we could find. And we had wine. An amazing—and very expensive—Bordeaux, probably another untouched gift from a client.

Between the fire and the blankets and the wine, we kept warm through the first hour of conversation, but as we entered the second, Lloergan had retreated indoors to lie by the fire, and I could no longer hide my chattering teeth.

“Let’s go in,” Gabriel said.

“I don’t want to.”

“If you’re—”

“I’ll be fine,” I said as I tugged the blanket higher. I managed to stop my teeth from chattering…only to start shivering convulsively.

“Here,” he said, and held out the blanket he was using.

I shook my head and shifted closer to pull it over both of us. He put his arm out, motioning for me to come closer still, and I didn’t need a second invitation. I sat beside him. Then I inched closer, as casually as I could, chatting and sipping wine. He put his arm around me, and a few minutes later I was snuggled up against his side, his arm around me.

“Better?” he said.

The pile of blankets trapped our body heat and made it very toasty. But if I admitted I was fine, he might shift aside. So I nodded, chattering my teeth a little, which gave me the excuse to snuggle closer still. He tugged me over until I was curled up in his lap, his arms around me, and I decided I heartily approved of this “lakeside cabin in December” plan.

If I gave another shiver, it wasn’t the cold, but the fact I was snuggled up with Gabriel, feeling the heat of his body, smelling the scent—his scent—that permeated his bed when he would insist I sleep there, and I’d wake from dreams I didn’t want to have, not while I’d been with Ricky. Dreams that I was allowed to have now, even if they left me aching and torn between hoping that one day they’d no longer be dreams and fearing they always would.