Page 19 of Matched with the Lumberjack

The air cools as the sun drops lower, the fire crackling steadily in front of us.

Carter steps back into my space, his hand settling low on my stomach, his palm warm and solid through the thin fabric of my tank top.

“You should be sitting,” he says.

“I’m fine.”

“I know,” he replies. “Sit anyway.”

I don’t argue. It’s early in this pregnancy but Carter worries. If resting with my feet up in front of a fire will ease his mind, I’m happy to do it.

Lowering myself onto a bench, he stays close enough that his knee presses against mine, his hand not moving from where it rests.

My fingers come up to cover his, settling there without thinking.

Five years ago, I ran to him because I didn’t have another choice. Now I come home because I do and I’m not going anywhere.

The End