The rain continued the next morning, turning Willow Creek into a soft gray watercolor. The house felt smaller than ever, the walls closing in with every unspoken word and stolen glance. The festival was truly behind us now, but the storm we had created inside these walls was only growing stronger.
I woke in Elias’s bed again, my body pressed against his, his arm wrapped tightly around my waist as if he could hold the secret in place by sheer will. His hand rested on my stomach, fingers splayed in that now-familiar, clingy way. He wasn’t asleep. His thumb traced slow circles on my skin, the same soothing pattern that had become our private morning ritual.
“Morning, love,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. His voice was low and rough with sleep and emotion. “I keep thinking abo
