They hadn’t had time. Not real time—not the kind that allowed silence to stretch and comfort to settle. The kind where no one needed anything from them, where the world faded into the background and all that remained was the pulse between two people learning, again, what it meant to just be.
So Doc booked the cabin.
It was tucked into a wooded mountainside, draped in pine and
quiet, with a wraparound porch, a fireplace, and big, fogged windows that
overlooked nothing but trees. Joe had offered to watch Anthony for the weekend,
and after some guilt-ridden hesitation, Andrea had said yes. They needed this.
She needed this.
As they pulled up the gravel drive, Andrea glanced at the
cabin, then at Doc. “It looks like something out of a movie.”
He smirked. “We’ve lived through a lot of drama. I figured
we deserved a romantic subplot.”
Inside, the cabin was warm and rustic, but well-kept—stone
hearth, soft linens, and shelves lined with well-loved books. Doc carried in
the bags, letting Andrea explore. She moved slowly through the space, touching
everything like it might vanish, like she didn’t quite believe she could have
something this peaceful.
That first night, they did nothing but sit in front of the
fire. No distractions. No tension. Just nonalcoholic wine, quiet conversation,
and hands that wandered lazily over familiar skin. Doc kissed her wrist when
she reached for her glass. She kissed the corner of his mouth when he reached
for hers. It was slow-burning affection, stretched out like the warmth from the
fire—patient, unhurried, steady.
Eventually, she straddled his lap and whispered, “Let’s take
our time with everything this weekend. Let’s not rush… anything.”
He nodded, hands firm on her hips. “I want to feel
everything.”
They made love on the sheepskin rug in front of the
fire—slow, deep, with long kisses and laughter between breaths. Andrea let
herself be held fully, completely. Doc’s hands learned her body all over again,
softer now, reverent in ways they hadn’t had the space to be before. And when
they finished, tangled and flushed, he held her like she was both fragile and
powerful—like he’d never forget the way she looked in that light.
Saturday Morning
They made breakfast in bare feet and long sleeves, music
playing low in the background. Andrea stood at the stove in one of Doc’s shirts
again, flipping pancakes while he sliced fruit beside her. At one point, he
came up behind her, slid his arms around her waist, and kissed her neck without
a word.
She leaned back into him. “You keep that up, and breakfast’s
going to burn.”
“Let it.”
They ate the on the porch, wrapped in a shared blanket,
passing bites between them, letting the morning linger. Afterward, they took a
walk through the woods behind the cabin, boots crunching in the fallen leaves, hands
brushing with every step until they finally linked.
Andrea stopped near a clearing and looked up at the trees.
“I never thought I’d get here. To a place like this. To someone like this.”
Doc stepped behind her, resting his chin on her shoulder.
“Me either. But I’m holding onto it.”
Later, in the quiet hush of the woods, she pulled him down
into the grass and kissed him until the chill didn’t matter. They undressed
each other slowly, both amused and turned on by the risk, the earthiness of it,
the intimacy of being so bare out in the open. She laughed when his hands found
her thighs, and he grinned when she gasped against his mouth.
It was different now—more confident, more honest. There was
a boldness in their touches, in the way she told him what she wanted. And in
the way he gave it to her.
Afterward, lying tangled in the fallen leaves, Andrea turned
her face to him. “We’re not who we were.”
“No,” Doc agreed, brushing a leaf from her hair. “We’re
better.”
Saturday Night
They soaked in the old clawfoot tub that night, limbs folded
together beneath the bubbles, candles flickering on the counter. Andrea laid
back against his chest as Doc ran his hands down her arms, over her belly.
“Do you ever feel like… there’s still more of me you haven’t
seen?” she asked softly.
He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “I think you have parts
you keep even from yourself. And when you’re ready, I’ll be here to meet them.”
She turned her head slightly, searching his eyes. “You’re
not afraid of what’s still in me?”
“Not even a little,” he said. “Because I know your heart.
And I trust it.”
That night, they explored each other all over again—this
time slow, sensual, prolonged. Andrea tied Doc’s wrists to the headboard with
one of his scarves, and he let her take control with a hungry vulnerability in
his eyes.
They didn’t rush. Every moan was a question answered. Every
kiss a new beginning.
And when he finally came undone beneath her, it wasn’t just
physical. It was emotional. Raw. Real.
“I love you,” she whispered, forehead to his, breathing
hard.
He smiled, heart pounding. “God, I love you too. I’d give up
everything for this.”
Sunday Morning
Andrea woke to find Doc already in the kitchen, making
coffee. He looked up and smiled—sleep-tousled, barefoot, wrapped in a hoodie.
She walked straight into his arms. “Thank you,” she
whispered.
“For what?”
“For seeing me. For this weekend. For not giving up on me.
On us.”
He kissed her hair. “You’re not something I give up on.
You’re someone I come back to. Again and again.”
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