The rain had returned with a vengeance the next morning, turning Willow Creek into a misty, gray world that matched the storm building inside the house. The festival was truly over now — the square empty, the lights packed away, the magic replaced by ordinary summer quiet. But nothing felt ordinary anymore.
I woke tangled in Elias’s sheets, his body curled protectively around mine. His arm was heavy across my waist, his hand resting on my stomach again, fingers splayed as if he could shield us from what was coming. He wasn’t asleep. His thumb traced slow, clingy circles on my skin, the same soothing pattern that had become our private language.
“Morning, love,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the back of my neck. His voice was low and rough with sleep and emotion. “I keep replaying last
