Hey there! We're going to start advancing that plot a little more with the next chapter. But for now, please enjoy, with some spicy time intertwined. Mature Content Warning.

Bethany

When I mention therapy to Kim Monday after we leave from checking on Nessie and baby Marie (okay, for the second time this morning), she drags me past the nurses' station without another word.

Cindy shoots us a questioning look as we pass, and I give her what's hopefully a helpless shrug.

"Mental health stuff, Cindy," Kim says. "Very important." And she keeps on walking.

I have to bite back a laugh. "That was brave of you, Kim Cameron. Evaluations are next week."

Kim shrugs, looping her arm through mine. "You really can't argue with that defense these days. And the people that do…"

"Dicks," I offer with a laugh. "So where are we going?"

"The office wing. The staff psychiatrist, Paula, is amazing. And it's part of our benefits here. Super discounted rate."

There's a lot to unpack in Kim's statement. What I start with is, "You're on a first name basis with a psychiatrist?" I don't think about whether it's offensive until it's too late.

Kim only laughs, though. "Paula is great, like I said. She's basically the pack's resident shrink. I've talked to her. Nessie. Katie and Seth."

"Katie and Seth? Did they have couples' counseling or something?"

I've met Katie a few times. At Kim's bachelorette party, again at the wedding. At any pack function, she and Seth are there. She's sweet, shy, and an amazing photographer. And she idolizes Seth (which isn't saying much, because he worships her right back). It's hard for me to picture them having a rough patch.

Kim shrugs. "I don't know the details. They never talk about it. And Seth left the pack shortly after they started seeing her, so nobody else knows anything, either."

Before I have time to continue my interrogation, Kim knocks on a door and hardly waits for a response before pushing it open.

"Paula, hey," Kim says. "This is my friend Bethany. She needs to talk."

Dr. Paula Hutchison, as her name plate reads, stands from behind the desk, lowering her glasses so they hang from a bejeweled neck strap. "Hi, Kim. How are you? How's that husband of yours?"

Kim blushes, her honeymoon-phase-glow resurfacing. I haven't seen it in a few weeks. "We're great, thanks."

Paula turns her gaze to me, and I force myself not to shrivel. She's not mean-looking, but her gaze is intense. "Bethany, Kim said?" She extends a hand. "It's nice to meet you."

"Hi. Yes. You, too, Dr. Hutchison." My returning handshake is sloppy.

She smiles kindly at me. "Paula, please."

Kim disappears out the door, shutting it behind her, and I don't think I hide my groan well enough.

Paula chuckles. "Kim is a force of nature, isn't she? Please, have a seat." She gestures to the navy tufted chairs across from her desk.

I comply but stay perched on the edge of the overstuffed armchair. "I can't stay too long. I'm on shift."

She nods. "Of course. We can meet for lunch later, if that would work better for you."

I think my neck is flushing, because it's suddenly warm in here. "Is that allowed? I thought the mood had to be right for therapy to work, or whatever."

Alright, I guess I'm doing this, then. Therapy.

She laughs again, shifting back in her chair. "It's helpful for some, yes, but this office is not for everyone." She looks around, and I allow myself to take in the space, too.

It's about what you'd expect of a therapist's office. It's lit by warm yellow light bulbs in multiple lamps. There are so many, the overhead light isn't turned on. The entire wall behind her is a bookshelf, stuffed to the brim: textbooks, medical journals, dictionaries, self-help. From this angle, her office is a tiny library.

She has a portfolio open in front of her, pen laying slanted on the notebook page. Her computer is to my right, tilted sideways just enough that I might be able to see what's on the screen, but there's a privacy film on it. Not that I would ever try to look or anything.

The notebook in her portfolio is only one of many on her desk, a stack of them. Twenty, maybe. To my left are four unlabeled filing cabinets. If I had to take a guess, I'd say they're full of notebooks, too. Patient files?

Patient. The word causes a shiver to run up my spine. "It feels a little…"

"Clinical?" she offers. She's not offended.

"I think I was going to say 'shrinky.'"

Paula laughs, and she pulls out a business card from a slot in her file sorter. "Here, take this. I usually take my lunch around noon in the cafeteria. If I see you there, great. If not, that's okay, too."

I chew my lip, wondering if she means it. Am I ready for this? I know the basics of therapy – you bare your deepest darkest secrets, insecurities, fears. Sometimes you get homework. This week, I'd like you to write a letter to your dad. That thought alone gives me palpitations.

"I think your pager's going off," Paula says, nodding toward my hip.

I stand awkwardly, slowly, as I read the pager message. "Right. Sorry. Thanks. I have to go."

Here you go again, Bethany, running off just when things get hard.

I don't meet Paula for lunch Monday. Or Tuesday. Or Wednesday.

Thursday, though. I'm running behind and forget my lunch, and I wind up in the cafeteria anyway.

Paula catches my eye from a two-top table along the wall. She doesn't wave me over, just waves. Friendly. I know she doesn't mean anything by it. She said it was okay if I didn't come, but was it actually?

Maybe this is what makes me feel especially guilty as I slide into the available chair opposite her.

"Sorry for avoiding you," I mumble, taking the top off my soup so I don't have to meet her eyes.

"Don't apologize for that. Avoidance is a coping mechanism."

"A good one?" When she doesn't answer, I finally look up. She's giving me a meaningful look. It's almost pity. But just almost. "I tend to do that. Avoid the hard stuff."

"I think everyone does, to some extent. Except for firefighters."

"Doctors, too," I say with a grin and a head tilt, unwrapping a plastic spoon.

"Nurses, also, then," Paula retorts, gesturing to me. "To be a nurse, you'd have to embrace the hard stuff to some extent. Trauma. Injury." She waits a beat. "Death."

Our first session – is this a session? – and we're already discussing death. I tell her that.

Paula laughs, running a hand through her graying blonde hair. She looks my mom's age, with hazel eyes and a mouth that looks like it spends half of its time pressed into a straight line. "Sometimes it's easier for people to discuss death if they encounter it more. Sometimes it's harder."

"Which one am I?" I ask, beginning to eat my soup. It's cooled, hovering somewhere between lukewarm and slightly warmer than refrigerated.

"You tell me. Would you like to tell me about the last patient you lost?"

The memory flashes in my mind. It had been about a month ago. The nurses on our team aren't ICU or trauma nurses, so the patients we see are usually on the up-and-up, recovering after scheduled surgery, broken bones, the flu, things like that.

Mr. Harris had been in for a hernia repair. He was awake and alert, eating a late lunch and joking with his wife and the nurses. I heard the wife scream before the alarm sounded, and by the time anyone got there, it was too late.

"Pulmonary embolism," I offer. "He was fifty-four. His daughter was pregnant with his first grandchild."

Paula nods slowly, picking at the remnants of her own lunch. "You have children." It's not a question.

I wonder if she has access to my employee file, if that's how she knows. For some reason, I'm more curious than terrified at the thought. "How do you know that?"

She shrugs. "It was an educated guess. We hold onto memories of moments that stand out for us. For you, what stood out was the daughter. The baby. Not the grieving wife. Not the medicine, not the fact that nothing could be done."

I nod slowly. "I don't know how much money you make, but I bet it's not enough."

"How many children do you have?"

"Just one. Sadie."

"How old is she?"

"She'll be seven in January." I see her follow up question behind her eyes, and I beat her to it. "I was nineteen when I had her."

She nods. "That must have been hard."

"I had my mom to help," I say, hoping I'm not giving too much away. I'm sure the Brandon Bombshell will come out soon enough, but I don't think I'm quite ready for that to happen right now.

"Even if you had an army of people, it still would have been hard," Paula says.

I shrug, dropping my gaze to my cold soup. It looks disgusting. I pick up my coffee instead. It, at least, is scalding.

"Tell me about Sadie. What's she like?" she prompts.

We discuss Sadie in depth, her likes and dislikes, her clumsiness and her allergies, her dolls. Her honesty. She is my favorite topic, so it's easy to keep me on track.

I'm surprised when my watch chimes twenty minutes later, telling me my break is over. Conversing with Paula is somehow like talking with an old friend. No wonder Kim loves her. No wonder Katie felt comfortable opening up to her.

I do, too.

In the weeks since I've started seeing Paula, I've discovered that I am, in fact, a prime candidate for therapy. Calling Paula by her name and not 'my therapist' makes me feel a little more put together. She doesn't seem to mind. We've only met five times, and never in her office. She doesn't seem to mind that, either.

I'm early for our meeting today, because I'm in a good mood. I'm still riding on my year-end review from a few weeks ago, where Cindy called my bedside manner 'much improved' and my recent kiss-assness 'unnecessary but appreciated'.

Today's good news is that I got a raise, effective with the new year.

I text this to Embry – Got a raise $$$ Thanks to all your coffees ;) I think Cindy likes you more than me tbh

"Hi, Bethany," Paula says, sliding her paisley print lunchbox onto the table across from mine. "You look happy."

"I am happy. I got a raise."

"That's excellent, but I meant about whoever you were texting."

"Oh," I say, my neck flushing. "Embry."

I told Paula about Embry in our second session, when she asked about who my inner circle is. He made the top of the list.

"How did you meet him?" Paula asks as she begins to unpack her lunch (turkey and cheese on rye, carrot sticks, strawberry yogurt – it's the same every single day). "I don't know if it's ever come up."

"At Kim's wedding. He's one of Jared's friends. We were paired together for the ceremony." I scrape the rest of my salad dressing into my bowl and replace the lid to shake it up.

"Instant connection," she muses.

"Actually, no. For him it was. For me…" I wrinkle my nose. "I wasn't interested."

She gives me a look that I've come to recognize. Somehow, in only three weeks, she's figured out my tell.

"Okay, I was attracted to him. We had a connection. We actually almost had—never mind." I nearly forgot I was talking to a licensed therapist for a second.

My hesitation tips her off. "Sex," she finishes.

My flush creeps toward my jaw. "Yeah."

"We're both adults, Bethany. We can talk about sex." Her tone isn't reprimanding. She sounds amused.

I let out a breath, chewing my bite harshly. Paula never talks with her mouth full. I can't relate. "Okay, we almost had sex in the parking lot at the reception."

"Why didn't you?"

"He asked me out."

This piques her interest. "But you were attracted to him."

My mouth is now too full of salad for even me to speak, so I just nod.

"So you didn't want to go out with an attractive man who was clearly interested in you." That's not a question, so I'm not really sure what she's fishing for.

I sigh, finally swallowing my bite. "It's not that I didn't want to, I don't think. But… sex is one thing. Dating is another."

"You're dating him now, though."

"Yes."

"Are you sleeping with him?"

"Yeah."

"How long did you wait before you became intimate?"

"What's your marker? After meeting him or dating him?"

Paula shrugs, rolling a carrot between her fingers. "Why not give me both? The timeline of your relationship with Embry."

I nod slowly, spearing a chunk of iceberg. "We met at the beginning of March. We started dating at the end of April. We had sex for the first time mid-July."

"How did that happen?"

I have no idea how to crack open that egg without spilling the wolf stuff.

Paula mistakes my hesitation for embarrassment. "Do you remember?"

"Oh, yeah," I blurt. We both laugh at my enthusiastic answer. "I was feeling… insecure, I guess. About why he chose not to invite me to a party with his friends. I asked him over, and he explained it was because I had to work the next day. And I think I threw myself a pity party, saying I was too messy.

"He explained that I was his favorite kind of mess, basically, and he told me loved me for the first time."

"And one thing leads to another, I assume?"

"You know what they say about assuming," I joke, holding my hand over my heart. "You must not know me very well yet. I am much more complicated than that."

She laughs through closed lips, gesturing for me to continue.

"I didn't believe him, when he said he loved me despite my mess. Because of it, even. I've been hurt before. I've had people declare their love to me and then leave later on."

"People, plural," Paula says. "More than one."

I spear my salad so hard I think my fork is going to break through the Tupperware. "I guess so."

"Embry must have convinced you otherwise if you're together now." I'm glad she doesn't press on the others. "If you slept with him."

"I'd been trying for a while, to be honest. He told me I use sex as a distraction."

Paula nods slowly. "We'll probably come back to that."

Of course we will.

It's Christmas Eve now, and it's snowing. A winter wonderland. Sadie's been off for winter break since Wednesday, hanging out with Embry at the shop. Jacob is stretching his paternity leave through the end of the year, and then I think Embry will be dragging him out of the cabin by the scruff.

Last year, Sadie and I went and stayed with my mom this week. This year things look a little bit different. I could sum up this entire year that way. Things look different now.

"Queen Sadie has requested your presence baking cookies for Santa," I say into the receiver, holding the phone to my ear while I shove the cold stuff back in the fridge.

Embry laughs with me from the other end of the phone. "Well, you can't refuse a royal decree, can you? Do you need me to bring anything?"

I look around at the mess of supplies on my counter. Sadie and I had been getting ready to start when she decided we couldn't do this without Embry.

"I think we have enough chocolate chips to feed an army," I say. Sadie's watching a Barbie Christmas movie while we wait. Even still, I drop my voice. "I don't think Santa has started wrapping presents, which might be a problem. I don't think he has any… supplies."

"Say no more," Embry says. "What about you, honey? Do you need anything?"

"Just you," I say, surprised at how easily the words fall out of my mouth. "And if you're offering, I wouldn't say no to some red wine."

Thirty minutes later, Embry's letting himself in with a gloriously large bottle of my favorite red blend, complete with a shiny silver bow.

"Embry!" Sadie says, popping up from her spot on the couch. She scrambles over the back of it, hopping down and landing in a heart-stopping mess of limbs and candy-cane flannel before righting herself. Embry and I let out a tandem sigh of relief.

"Sadie bug," he greets back, scooping her up. "Look at your pajamas. How festive."

I work to uncork the bottle of my Christmas present as they greet each other. Embry carries her to the kitchen and plops her down in her chair, already pulled up to the counter from the first time we tried to start.

"I heard we're making cookies," Embry says.

"For Santa!" Sadie nods excitedly. "What did you ask Santa for?"

I pour Embry and myself generous glasses of wine as Embry works to pull an answer out of his ass. Apparently, he has a new motorcycle seat on his list.

The three of us make chocolate chip cookies together, and I think Sadie and Embry inhale more cookie dough than actually makes it to the oven.

After the last batch comes out, the three of us cuddle on the couch and watch "the movie with the train," according to Sadie. She says we should move near railroad tracks so she can go to the North Pole next Christmas.

As expected, she falls asleep about twenty minutes in, hyped up on sugar and excitement and cocooned in Embry's warm side.

I feel you, Sadie. It's my favorite spot, too.

I watch from Sadie's doorframe as Embry tucks her in, and the butterflies in my stomach get set on fire when he places an unprompted kiss on her forehead.

"What?" Embry asks me as he closes Sadie's bedroom door.

I shrug. "I love the way you are with her."

He gives me a crooked smile and shrugs. "My girls are my world."

Oh.

His response, the intense look in his eyes, makes me want to take him to my bedroom and lock the door. But Paula says using for sex as a distraction from big feelings can be harmful, even if the big feelings are good. And this one is very good.

"What?" Embry asks, running his hand down my arm and tangling our fingers together.

My cheeks are warm from my wine, but I think the color there is all Embry, from his deep stare. "I—I want you." Filter? What's a filter? "But we need to wrap the presents. And eat cookies."

His pupils dilate as his ears go red. "Oh, honey," he says, his voice husky. "Those cookies are for Santa. How dare you?"

Embry disappears to his car, and when he returns, his arms are full of rolls of wrapping paper and a bag with ribbons and bows. He went absolutely overboard, and I love him even more for it.

"We need more wine, I think," he says, managing to scoop up the bottle in his already-full arms.

I don't bother grabbing our wine glasses, just the plate of cookies. "Are you trying to seduce me with alcohol and chocolate?" I gest, moving toward my bedroom.

"Do you need to be seduced with alcohol and chocolate?" he asks as I lock the door behind us. Just in case Sadie wakes up. For the presents. "Because I could go get more."

Heat floods my body, centering between my legs. "I don't," I say. My voice is raspy. I clear it before I speak again. "You're plenty seductive all on your own."

Embry drops the gift supplies on the floor, managing to slide the bottle of wine onto my nightstand before turning to me, eyes black.

"Oh, really?" he says, dipping low to brush his lips against mine. "You haven't even seen me wrap presents yet."

I don't think gifts have ever been wrapped faster. And, to my surprise, Embry is actually good at wrapping presents. We make a tag team – he wraps, I decorate.

"Do you want some cash for any of this?" Embry asks as we're finishing up. I'm sticking a big silver bow on the final gift. "I don't know if that's my place, but I just don't want you to ever feel like you're alone in this."

The wine is settling into my legs and has completely decimated my filter. "You saying shit like that is my love language."

Embry chuckles, sliding the plate of cookies across the carpet in front of him. "I think you're a little drunk," he says before popping an entire cookie into his mouth.

"I'm serious," I laugh, "Paula made me take the quiz. My love language is a tie between words of affirmation and physical touch."

He runs his teeth across his bottom lip, mouth still full of cookie. "Oh."

I nod eagerly, lifting the bottle of wine to my mouth and draining the last few sips. "We should put these under the tree. Is she dead asleep?"

He nods, standing before he hauls me to my feet.

I sway, tumbling into his chest. Okay, so I'm a little drunk.

"How about," he says, grinning, "you get in bed, and I'll take care of it?"

I nod slowly. "Yeah, take care of it, and then come take care of me."

Every time Embry returns from a trip to the living room, I'm wearing less clothing. It takes him a few trips to notice, but when he does, he speeds up considerably.

"I thought tequila was the alcohol that makes you horny," he says, shutting the door softly behind him.

I sit up on my knees, still in my undergarments as I reach for him. "Turns out," I say, "it's just you."

Embry gestures down to my lacy red lingerie. "Merry Christmas to me."

The clock on my nightstand glows 12:17. "You should unwrap your present," I slur, clumsy fingers finding the hem of his t-shirt and pulling it overhead.

"Part of me feels like I'm taking advantage of you," he whispers, not bothering to kiss me (or unwrap me). His fingers skirt over the lace covering my chest. The sensation causes me to whimper. He's just staring at me, his hands mapping my body. "How is this real?"

I giggle, his fingers now tickling the sensitive skin of my ribcage. "It's real, I promise." I hiccup. "I think. I could have already passed out."

He grins, lowering his mouth to my collarbone. "Have I ever told you how amazing you look in red?"

Only every time I wear red. "No," I say, plastering a playfully naïve look on my face. "How amazing?"

A low growl rumbles in the back of his throat, and he steps forward, bringing our bodies flush together against our fronts. Something firm presses against the skin of my upper thigh, and I shiver. "This amazing," he says simply.

I run my hands across his chiseled chest before landing on the button of his jeans. "That happens all the time, though," I say. "Even when I'm not wearing red."

He doesn't say anything, just watches as I free him from the restrictive denim, pushing everything down to his thighs.

"Embry?" I prompt, running a fingernail lightly up his torso and back down. "It happens all the time."

"Yeah," he says, shaking his head to clear whatever's on his mind. "It happens all the fucking time around you, Bethany. Even when all I do is think about you."

I collapse onto my heels, placing a kiss against his stomach. "How unfortunate. What do you do about that when I'm not around?"

His eyes go wide. "Seriously?"

I shrug, toning back up my innocent look. "Show me. I want to watch."

He mutters something that sounds like the death of me under his breath, and finishes kicking his pants off.

I move over, watching as he situates himself against my pillows. He keeps his eyes on my face, but I'm enraptured by his hand, the way it fits around him, the way his muscles ripple with each movement.

He hasn't even touched me and I'm quivering; this is better than porn. I trail my hand up my thigh, leaning back on my other palm.

"I swear if you touch yourself, I'm going to lose it," he breathes, his movements faltering.

My eyes flutter closed, and I bite my lower lip to stop my smile. "Well that's not really fair, is it?" I ask, moving my hand instead to my breast. I run a thumb over the stiffened peak, clearly visible through the thin fabric.

He hisses, throwing his head back to the headboard with a soft thud. "I'm serious, Bethany. I'm not gonna last, and I want to have sex."

"You will," I say to both statements. "Don't come yet." My voice is commanding.

"I—" he groans instead of answering, but his movements slow.

My hand skirts down my torso, slipping under the fabric between my legs. Watching him watch me is an aphrodisiac, better than chocolate or wine or practically anything else I can imagine.

I allow myself a moment of enjoyment before I pause to undo my bra, tossing it… somewhere.

"How wet are you?" he grunts, his gaze locked on my movements.

I get what he means now. It's been about a week since we've been together, but it might as well have been months, years. I'm not going to last either. "Soaking."

Embry lets out a long groan, speeding up his movements briefly before reeling to a near stop. Painfully, by the look on his face. "Fuck, please just let me—"

"No," I gasp, the beginnings of my climax drawing near. "So close."

"Faster," he demands, determination in his eyes. He's playing along now.

I comply, biting my lip to try and stifle a moan. It doesn't quite work. "God, yes."

"I can't wait to get my hands on you," he utters. "I promise, as soon as you come, I'm going to put myself so deep—"

"Embry," I gasp, the force and speed of my nearly-there orgasm catching me by surprise. So he's good at dirty talk, too. Is there anything he's not good at?

Fireworks of pleasure explodes under my skin, behind my eyelids, in my veins. I spasm under my touch, and I just barely register a deep growl, my head spinning in some far-off place. I'm sure it would wake Sadie if she wasn't in a sugar-induced coma.

Embry latches onto my ankle and drags me down the bed to him, flipping to his knees and nearly ripping my panties off in his haste. He slides home, seating himself deep in me. Even though he never finished verbalizing his promise, I'm sure he's kept it.

He starts effortless movements, and it keeps me tipped over the edge. Every part of my body is on fire. Sparks. Electricity. I'm probably already glowing.

"Yes, baby, that's right," he moans. "You're coming for me."

I nod, whimpering and writhing and twisting and moaning.

His eyes slide shut; his mouth is slightly open. I hear his little grunts, see his abs shimmering with his thrusts. What a hard worker. Hard being the operative word, of course.

I giggle at my joke, my head finally starting to clear, and he slows. "Something funny?"

"I just—" he pulls my hips off the mattress, and I gasp loudly as he finds the bomb-detonating spot inside me — "Yes, right there," I redirect.

He looks positively smug, picking up his pace and following my directions. "You wanna come again?"

This is heaven, I think. I don't even I answer, because he doesn't give me time, just speeds up and grips my hips tighter.

I cry out loudly – too loudly – as I go tumbling off the cliff again. He holds me with one hand, cupping my mouth with the other to try and keep me quiet. I bite down hard on the heel of his palm to further stifle my moan.

"Oh fuck," Embry moans, stiffening. "I'm—yes." It's all the words he can manage, but I totally understand.

We come undone together.

After we catch out breaths (which takes longer than it normally would because for some reason, every time we look at each other, we burst into laughter) and clean ourselves off, Embry throws the covers back and snuggles me into his side.

I start to protest, but he shushes me with a soft kiss. "Just for a few minutes," he murmurs into my hair, pulling the blanket up around us. "A few more minutes of bliss, and then I'll go."

A soft thud against my chest wakes me up. The more I come to, the more I realize it's a hard, human-elbow-shaped thud. "Hey, Sade," I say through a yawn.

She squeals. "Embry! What are you doing here? A sleepover?"

Embry's still here? I look over to the warm mass lying next to me. His eyes are wide and tired and a little bit panicked.

Even though his face is twisted, the fact that his head is on my pillow, his arm around my waist, his clothes on my floor… It's a good thing I'm still laying down, because my knees would not support me right now.

Sleepovers are against the rules if Sadie's going to be here to see it. And I feel particularly naked under this blanket. If Sadie's paying enough attention, she might be able to see my red bra hanging from the corner of my dresser.

"Come on, sleepyhead! Santa came!" Sadie says, pulling Embry's arm off my midsection and in the direction of the living room.

If I'm still naked, Embry is certainly also still naked.

"Give us a minute, okay, munchkin?" I say, reaching up to smooth back Sadie's wild mane and clutching the sheet to my chest with my free hand. "And no peeking."

Sadie nods, scrambling back down off the bed and into the living room. Even I don't miss her squeal. Oh, to be a kid on Christmas morning.

I turn back to Embry, feeling a little bit like that myself.

"Bethany, I'm so sorry," Embry breathes. "I fell asleep."

I shake my head, burrowing my face into his neck. "We fell asleep," I correct. "It's not your fault."

"I'll go," he says, placing a kiss in my hair before he rolls away, probably feeling for his clothes.

I wind my arms tighter around his exposed waist, holding him in place. "I'm not sorry, Em. It was… it was nice to wake up to you."

He turns back to me, eyes wide.

"And besides," I whisper against his neck, "I think Santa probably brought a present or two for you."

By the time the two of us emerge from my bedroom, dressed and hopefully not looking guilty, Sadie is sitting almost directly under the Christmas tree.

"Can I go now?" she asks, bouncing on her tailbone. "Please can I go now, please?"

I eye the clock on the stove. Half past six. Oof. "How about you sort them out?" I say. "And Embry will make some coffee?"

He nods, leaning over to give me a quick peck on my hair. I notice he's wearing his shirt and sweatpants – the ones I'd commandeered this summer. I hope he doesn't think this is permission to take them back.

After Embry places a steaming cup of coffee in my hand minutes later, finally, I give Sadie the green light, and her squeal is deafening. I feel it in my soul, so I know it probably makes Embry go momentarily deaf.

I snap pictures for my mom, and a few for myself when Embry's undoing some packaging for Sadie. She's looking at him with bright, wonder-filled eyes.

Finally, Sadie settles into comfortable placation, and Embry disappears into my bedroom.

"This is for you," he says when he comes back, holding out a little box.

My eyes go wide, and I look to Sadie. She's still engrossed in her toys, playing with three different things at once. Naturally.

"What is it?" I ask Embry quietly as he perches on the edge of the couch, our knees touching. It's not quite the right size for a ring, I don't think. Still, my heart is hammering. I don't need any more coffee; I'm wide awake.

He chuckles. "Open it, honey."

And so I do.

Nestled in the box is a delicate gold necklace, with a single deep red gemstone. I blink several times to clear unexpected tears, brushing my fingers across the delicate pendant before I look at him.

He's pressing his tongue to his cheek, his brow furrowed as he watches me. "It's a—"

"Garnet," we say at the same time. "It's Sadie's birthstone," I say.

He nods, eyes still hesitant. "I wanted to get you something you could wear every day, even at work if you wanted. You don't like bracelets and I want the first ring I get you to be that ring, so I thought this was good. And it's not welded or anything, so if we—if you ever needed to add more charms, you could."

I don't speak, just comprehend his rushed words as I stare at the little charm. I'm sure when I meet Paula next time, she'll be able to explain exactly why this little box unlocks a new chamber of my heart.

I, on the other hand, have no fucking clue. But there it is. Here I go.

"My lease isn't up until June," I blurt, still staring at the necklace. "But in the meantime, you can stay here more often if you want."

I spare a look at Embry, and he's biting the corner of his lip in hopes of squelching his smile. "How much more often?" he asks.

I shrug, slipping the necklace out of the box and preparing to put it on. Wow, here come those big feelings. "As often as you want."

"How does every night sound?" he asks, sliding the chain from my fingers and brushing my hair aside.

"I think that sounds perfect."