k-evans-reads

[k-evans-reads]

@shoegal73 Ahhhh thank you so so much! It had been stirring in my head so having an excuse to write it was fun!

Please do just a little bit of rancher chris just for us 🥹 Pleaseeeeeeeee

Mhmmmm okay!

The gravel crunched beneath her tires in a way it hadn’t in nearly two years. Hearing that sound that hadn’t been familiar in years made a sadness wash over Lily. It had been so long since she’d been here… almost as long since she’d felt like herself. But that wasn’t what made her sad. It was the fact that the warm smiling faces of her grandparents were no longer here to greet her when she pulled up. 

Lily drove beside the old barn like she used to when her grandpa let her steer the truck, the front tires angled slightly, crooked like always. The ranch looked smaller than she remembered. Not worse, just... quieter. The paint was peeling off the fence rails, the porch sagged more than she expected, and the weeds in the yard growing tall. 

Lily sat with the engine idling for a beat longer, her fingers loose around the steering wheel. There were so many memories here and all of them were good. She still could remember the excitement she had as an eight year old girl when her grandparents had moved to the ranch, wanting more property and space. Having grown up in the city, the ranch had always felt like something out of a movie with the big field, horses in the stable and bright white fence. Nearly every summer until she was fifteen she spent here with her brothers, running barefoot to the creek and knees skinned from climbing trees. Those were some of the best summers of her life until her dad’s business had taken off and summers at the ranch were traded for cruises and trips across Europe. 

It felt so long since she’d been here… although it had been. It had been almost fifteen years since she’d set foot on this property but something about it still felt like home. But this was temporary. She was here to fix things up, make it clean and respectable and ready to sell. That was the plan.

Except... she hadn't really had a plan in weeks. Not since the ring came off her finger and she realized she didn’t miss the man who gave it to her, just the idea of him. The life they’d talked about. The perfectly framed picture of a future she couldn’t quite step into. The one that no matter how hard she tried to fit into it, or how much her family thought it was perfect for her, it always just was too hollow. 

Lily finally got out of the truck and heard the porch creak as she walked across to grab the doorknob of the sun faded house. The front door stuck, same as always. She had to hip-check it twice before it gave in, and she was greeted by silence and dust and light slanting through the curtains. The house hadn’t been lived in for nearly two years since her grandpa had passed away, just a few months after her grandma, and the house was left to Lily’s parents but nobody knew quite what to do with it. It wasn’t until everything fell apart and her dad finally talked about hiring someone to fix the place up to sell that Lily felt like the house was a lifeline. Something to get her out of the city and the mess that was there and put her effort into something tangible. The house may have not been lived in for a long time, but it didn’t feel empty. It felt asleep.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat down at the dust covered kitchen table, just listening… or more so remembering, before she heard the sound. A faint but steady truck engine, deeper than hers, coming up the road.

Lily brushed the dust off of her jeans as curiosity got the better of her and stepped onto the porch just as the dust cloud started to settle behind the truck. He was already out of the cab, boots hitting the gravel like punctuation.

Chris Walker. 

He was taller than she remembered. Broader, too. He moved like someone who didn’t waste energy… deliberate, quiet. Same ball cap, same dark hair curling around the back of his neck. A white tee shirt clung to his shoulders, hands in the pockets of his jeans like he hadn’t meant to get out of the truck at all. But it was unmistakable that it was him. He moved the same as he always had, steady and unhurried, like nothing ever rattled him.

He stopped a few feet from the porch, chin lifting just slightly. There was a hint of a soft smile that she saw when his eyes flicked up to hers, blue and unreadable, as he greeted her plainly, “Hey.”

It wasn’t much, but the way he said it landed solid and sure, like he meant it.

She smiled before she could stop herself, “Hey, stranger.”

“Wasn’t sure if it was really you,” he said. His voice was deeper than she remembered. Low and calm and a little rough, like it didn’t get used much.

“Yeah, it’s really me.” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s been a long time.” 

He nodded once. Like that was all he needed. They stood there a second, not quite awkward, but not quite easy either.

“I used to wonder what’d happen to this place,” he said finally, glancing toward the porch, the loose boards, the half-collapsed barn roof in the distance. “Figured someone’d come clean it up. Or let it fall down.”

She looked around too, seeing it through his eyes. “I thought maybe I’d do a little of both,” she said, only half joking.

His mouth twitched. “That sounds about right.”

She watched him a moment longer. There was something comforting about the way he stood, like the ground beneath him was solid in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time.

He shifted on his feet. “If you need anything, I’m next door.”

Lily’s throat tightened around a quiet, unexpected gratitude. “Thanks, Chris.”

He gave a small nod and turned back toward the truck without another word, boots scuffing lightly over gravel.

Lily stood there for a while, watching the road even after he disappeared.

She remembered him as the quiet boy next door. Always working. Always watching the ground or the animals or something else that didn’t talk back. She used to think he didn’t like her. He never teased her or joked around like her cousins did. He barely spoke at all. But he’d fixed the tire on her bike once without being asked. And brought her a kitten he found near the barn. He’d just held it out to her, wordless, like an offering.

He’d been kind, she realized. Just not loud about it.

And now here he was, a man grown, still quiet. Still kind.

She stepped back inside, the screen door creaking shut behind her. The light in the house had shifted, spilling over the floors and painting everything in soft gold.

She wasn’t sure how long she was staying. She wasn’t sure what she wanted yet. But something about being here, something about seeing Chris, made the quiet feel less lonely.

Maybe, just maybe, she’d needed this place more than she’d known.

[k-evans-reads]

Please do just a little bit of rancher chris just for us 🥹 Pleaseeeeeeeee

Mhmmmm okay!

The gravel crunched beneath her tires in a way it hadn’t in nearly two years. Hearing that sound that hadn’t been familiar in years made a sadness wash over Lily. It had been so long since she’d been here… almost as long since she’d felt like herself. But that wasn’t what made her sad. It was the fact that the warm smiling faces of her grandparents were no longer here to greet her when she pulled up. 

Lily drove beside the old barn like she used to when her grandpa let her steer the truck, the front tires angled slightly, crooked like always. The ranch looked smaller than she remembered. Not worse, just... quieter. The paint was peeling off the fence rails, the porch sagged more than she expected, and the weeds in the yard growing tall. 

Lily sat with the engine idling for a beat longer, her fingers loose around the steering wheel. There were so many memories here and all of them were good. She still could remember the excitement she had as an eight year old girl when her grandparents had moved to the ranch, wanting more property and space. Having grown up in the city, the ranch had always felt like something out of a movie with the big field, horses in the stable and bright white fence. Nearly every summer until she was fifteen she spent here with her brothers, running barefoot to the creek and knees skinned from climbing trees. Those were some of the best summers of her life until her dad’s business had taken off and summers at the ranch were traded for cruises and trips across Europe. 

It felt so long since she’d been here… although it had been. It had been almost fifteen years since she’d set foot on this property but something about it still felt like home. But this was temporary. She was here to fix things up, make it clean and respectable and ready to sell. That was the plan.

Except... she hadn't really had a plan in weeks. Not since the ring came off her finger and she realized she didn’t miss the man who gave it to her, just the idea of him. The life they’d talked about. The perfectly framed picture of a future she couldn’t quite step into. The one that no matter how hard she tried to fit into it, or how much her family thought it was perfect for her, it always just was too hollow. 

Lily finally got out of the truck and heard the porch creak as she walked across to grab the doorknob of the sun faded house. The front door stuck, same as always. She had to hip-check it twice before it gave in, and she was greeted by silence and dust and light slanting through the curtains. The house hadn’t been lived in for nearly two years since her grandpa had passed away, just a few months after her grandma, and the house was left to Lily’s parents but nobody knew quite what to do with it. It wasn’t until everything fell apart and her dad finally talked about hiring someone to fix the place up to sell that Lily felt like the house was a lifeline. Something to get her out of the city and the mess that was there and put her effort into something tangible. The house may have not been lived in for a long time, but it didn’t feel empty. It felt asleep.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat down at the dust covered kitchen table, just listening… or more so remembering, before she heard the sound. A faint but steady truck engine, deeper than hers, coming up the road.

Lily brushed the dust off of her jeans as curiosity got the better of her and stepped onto the porch just as the dust cloud started to settle behind the truck. He was already out of the cab, boots hitting the gravel like punctuation.

Chris Walker. 

He was taller than she remembered. Broader, too. He moved like someone who didn’t waste energy… deliberate, quiet. Same ball cap, same dark hair curling around the back of his neck. A white tee shirt clung to his shoulders, hands in the pockets of his jeans like he hadn’t meant to get out of the truck at all. But it was unmistakable that it was him. He moved the same as he always had, steady and unhurried, like nothing ever rattled him.

He stopped a few feet from the porch, chin lifting just slightly. There was a hint of a soft smile that she saw when his eyes flicked up to hers, blue and unreadable, as he greeted her plainly, “Hey.”

It wasn’t much, but the way he said it landed solid and sure, like he meant it.

She smiled before she could stop herself, “Hey, stranger.”

“Wasn’t sure if it was really you,” he said. His voice was deeper than she remembered. Low and calm and a little rough, like it didn’t get used much.

“Yeah, it’s really me.” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s been a long time.” 

He nodded once. Like that was all he needed. They stood there a second, not quite awkward, but not quite easy either.

“I used to wonder what’d happen to this place,” he said finally, glancing toward the porch, the loose boards, the half-collapsed barn roof in the distance. “Figured someone’d come clean it up. Or let it fall down.”

She looked around too, seeing it through his eyes. “I thought maybe I’d do a little of both,” she said, only half joking.

His mouth twitched. “That sounds about right.”

She watched him a moment longer. There was something comforting about the way he stood, like the ground beneath him was solid in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time.

He shifted on his feet. “If you need anything, I’m next door.”

Lily’s throat tightened around a quiet, unexpected gratitude. “Thanks, Chris.”

He gave a small nod and turned back toward the truck without another word, boots scuffing lightly over gravel.

Lily stood there for a while, watching the road even after he disappeared.

She remembered him as the quiet boy next door. Always working. Always watching the ground or the animals or something else that didn’t talk back. She used to think he didn’t like her. He never teased her or joked around like her cousins did. He barely spoke at all. But he’d fixed the tire on her bike once without being asked. And brought her a kitten he found near the barn. He’d just held it out to her, wordless, like an offering.

He’d been kind, she realized. Just not loud about it.

And now here he was, a man grown, still quiet. Still kind.

She stepped back inside, the screen door creaking shut behind her. The light in the house had shifted, spilling over the floors and painting everything in soft gold.

She wasn’t sure how long she was staying. She wasn’t sure what she wanted yet. But something about being here, something about seeing Chris, made the quiet feel less lonely.

Maybe, just maybe, she’d needed this place more than she’d known.

[k-evans-reads]

is rancher chris something you’re going to write?

✨: Well we haven’t finished The Spare yet and Rancher!Chris is just something I randomly had pop in my head last night so I doubt it unless people were really interested or excited to read and then I might play around with some one shots

[k-evans-reads]

well now your just being mean

just saying 🤷🏻‍♀️

[k-evans-reads]

you can't tease us with rancher chris 🤠

I mean... technically I can.... ;)

Can't you see this guy with a horse and a dog?

[k-evans-reads]

Now I want to know what the idea is . . . . . .

✨: Oh it’s just like a simple little idea I had of like a small town rancher Chris who’s quiet, keeps to himself and is pretty stoic. I was watching Yellowstone and it just sparked that idea! Very random but 🤷🏻‍♀️

[k-evans-reads]

Real Question

Why is it so easy to think of story ideas when you don’t have time to write and still have an unfinished story?

[k-evans-reads]

Hi all!

We’ve been very busy lately and apologize for the lack of posting. Our schedules have a lot going on and it will be a bit before we will be able to post. Thank you for understanding!

[k-evans-reads]

Hi friends!

We are alive, we have just had a pretty hectic and rough few weeks. Thank you for your understanding!

[k-evans-reads]

Next chapter will be coming soon!

The Spare

We do NOT give permission for our works to be reuploaded, translated, or reposted on any other site. Our work is our own.

Summary: When Princess Rosie unexpectedly is thrust into a political tour of the country, a working-class Air Force Captain is assigned to be her pilot. Although the princess is unhappy about the decision, she realizes she’s stepping into unknown territory when the unexpected happens

Previous | Main Masterlist | The Spare Masterlist

By @k-evans-writes and @ourfinest-hour

Word Count: 8,059

The loud applause echoed off the high ceilings of the historic hall as Rosie stepped back from the microphone, her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath. The speech she’d just given wasn’t like the countless amount of speeches she’d delivered the past four years written by the palace—stoic, strong, not one word misspoken or anything less than perfect. This speech was different because it was hers. Every word, every phrase, and every heartfelt sentiment had come from her. She had taken one look at the polished, impersonal speech her advisors had handed her and decided enough was enough.

The crowd’s reaction was immediate and overwhelming. Rosie saw their faces—some smiling, some teary-eyed, but all of them captivated. She had spoken about the challenges people faced, about resilience and hope, and most importantly, about how she felt about the country and her strong sense of duty to help unite the country during this uncertain time. It had been so many years since she’d spoken her own words, having been beaten down the palace for too long after she had made headline after headline in her younger years and once she stepped into James’ shoes, she knew it was a losing battle and she had to hold the party line. 

But something in her had changed. For years, she’d been told to keep her head down, to fit into the mold James had made. She had tried—God, had she tried. But it had left her feeling hollow, like she’d lost pieces of herself along the way. But there had been moments on this tour that a specific captain had helped to bring some of that spunk and sparkle back out of her, reminding Rosie that she had just simply had enough. She couldn’t keep wearing this heavy mask anymore… but that didn’t mean she hadn’t been nervous as hell. 

The applause and expressions of each person in the room had helped to make her breathe a sigh of relief but as she turned to step off the stage, her eyes instinctively searched for one face in particular. Chris stood at the edge of the room, arms at his sides, his posture as steady as ever. But his face wasn’t stoic now. His lips curved into a small smile, his eyes carrying a glint of pride. Rosie felt her heart skip, but she shook the thought away, focusing instead on the wave of adrenaline coursing through her.

An ear to ear smile was plastered on her face the entire time she slowly worked through the room as the event went on, Rosie fulfilling her duty to make her way to shake hands and chat with all of the people in the room. Normally she had dreaded these moments, each of them draining so much from her, but this time it felt different. She felt a little more confident, empowered and more like herself. 

The second that she could pull away though, she slipped into a side room when she caught a glimpse of Annie waiting for her in the corner of the green room. Her younger sister had been allowed to join her for the day, a rare treat for both of them. Rosie beamed as she walked over, pulling Annie into a tight hug.

“I’m so glad you were able to be here, Annie, even if it’s just for the day,” Rosie said, her voice warm and light.

“I am too. I miss you, Rosie,” Annie replied, squeezing her tightly before stepping back.

Rosie laughed softly, her nerves finally starting to ease. “Hopefully, when this tour is over, I’ll actually get time to come visit you at uni.”

“I’d love that,” Annie said with a grin. Then her expression softened as she added, “I think you’re going to make quite a splash with that speech you gave.”

Rosie chuckled, a genuine, lighthearted laugh bubbling out of her. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll be hearing about it from the palace.”

Annie blinked in surprise at her sister’s tone, then broke into a grin. “Now there’s my sister. I haven’t seen her in a long time.”

Rosie tilted her head, the smile still on her face. “What do you mean by that?”

Annie hesitated for a moment, her gaze searching Rosie’s. Then she said plainly, “I just mean you haven’t really…been yourself the past couple of years.”

Rosie’s smile faltered. She knew her sister was right, but hearing it so plainly struck a chord deep inside her. A heavy sadness crept up on her, wrapping around the edges of her heart. She could feel the weight of the past few years pressing down on her—the weariness of trying to be something she wasn’t, of hiding the parts of herself that didn’t fit the royal mold. Her spunkiness, her humor, her heart-on-her-sleeve nature—all of it had been tucked away in favor of a stoic facade that pleased the palace but slowly chipped away at who she truly was.

“It’s kind of hard to be when people are constantly reminding you that the way you are inherently isn’t good enough,” she admitted quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Annie’s face softened. “I know,” she said gently. “But my sister wouldn’t have really cared what they thought if she knew she was doing the right thing.”

Rosie’s lips pressed together as she looked at her sister, the wheels in her mind turning. Finally, she asked, “Annie, why are you bringing this all up today?”

“Because today, I got to see the old Rosie back,” Annie said, her voice filled with warmth. “I got to hear your voice up there giving that speech. I got to see you really connecting with people and laughing and being expressive. I got to see your sparkle back, and that makes me so happy.”

Rosie’s heart ached at her sister’s words. “It was the first time I’ve felt like myself,” she admitted softly.

“And that showed,” Annie said, her tone encouraging. “You’ve gotten pretty good at hiding your emotions, but I feel like I got to see them all today…especially after your speech.”

“Probably because I was about to fall over in shock that people clapped so loudly for it,” Rosie said, her lips curving into a small smile.

Annie laughed, then tilted her head with a mischievous grin. “I’m surprised you even noticed people were clapping with the way you were looking at a certain captain…”

Rosie rolled her eyes, though a blush crept up her cheeks. “I wasn’t looking just at Chris.”

“Yeah, you were,” Annie said with a knowing laugh. “I don’t blame you, though. He’s gorgeous.”

Rosie shook her head, laughing despite herself. But Annie’s words stayed with her, warming something inside her that had felt cold for far too long. 

Once the crowd had finally dispersed, and Rosie felt the weight of the evening beginning to lift. She lingered near the doorway of the green room, the soft hum of conversation fading into the distance as staff and dignitaries made their exits. Annie walked beside her, their steps slowing as the quiet of the building setted around them like a warm cocoon.

“I needed this,” Rosie admitted softly, her gaze flicking to her sister. “Having you here, I mean. It’s been…a long tour.”

Annie tilted her head, giving her a small, knowing smile. “You’re doing amazing, though. That speech? That was a side of you I haven’t seen in way too long.”

Rosie’s lips curved into a faint smile as they continued down the hallway, the marbled floors reflecting the soft light from the ornate chandeliers above. The weight of her sister’s words still lingered in her heart. 

They turned into one of the quieter rooms just off the main corridor, a space where Rosie could finally breathe. The room was simple but elegant, with plush seating and a large window overlooking the city’s twinkling lights. It felt like a moment stolen out of time—just her and Annie, a rare break from the chaos of her royal obligations.

As Rosie perched on the edge of a nearby armchair, Annie set her leather tote bag down on the table and began rummaging through it.

“I almost forgot—I brought this for you,” Annie said suddenly, her tone light but her smile carrying a hint of excitement.

Rosie raised a brow, her curiosity piqued as Annie pulled out a perfectly wrapped box. “And before you even start, don’t argue with me. Just open it.”

Rosie narrowed her eyes, a smile already tugging at her lips. “I wasn’t going to argue,” she said lightly, though they both knew better. Setting the box down on the table, she peeled back the wrapping and lifted the lid. The second she saw what was inside, she gasped. “Annie! This is gorgeous!”

Nestled in the box was a sleek film camera that Rosie picked up carefully, letting her fingers trace the smooth metal and textured leather accents.

“I know this tour hasn’t been easy,” Annie said, watching her sister’s reaction with a soft smile. “But I thought maybe you could use it to capture some of the good moments.”

Rosie’s throat tightened as she hugged the camera to her chest. Then, without hesitation, she stepped forward and wrapped Annie in a tight embrace. “This is the sweetest gift. Thank you, Annie.”

Annie returned the hug with equal warmth, and when they finally pulled apart, Rosie found herself smiling for what felt like the first time all day—a real, unguarded smile.

Before either of them could say more, a firm knock sounded against the open door. Chris leaned in, his hand still resting on the doorframe. He offered an apologetic smile.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, his voice gentle but steady. “But it’s time to wrap up. The team’s ready when you are, Ro.”

Rosie nodded, her gaze meeting his for a fleeting moment. “Thanks, Chris. We’ll be out in just a second.”

Chris nodded once, stepping back into the hallway and letting the door swing partially shut behind him.

When Rosie turned back to Annie, she immediately noticed the mischievous grin spreading across her sister’s face.

“What?” Rosie asked suspiciously.

“Ro?” Annie teased, tilting her head.

Rosie rolled her eyes, though she could feel heat creeping up her neck. “Don’t start.”

“Don’t start?” Annie countered with mock incredulity. “Your entire staff calls you Princess or Your Royal Highness. Your friends call you Rosalie. Only people who are really close to you call you Rosie. And now your very attractive pilot calls you Ro?”

“It’s just the way Chris is,” Rosie said with a shrug, trying to sound casual.

“Mhmm.” Annie crossed her arms, her smirk firmly in place. “You don’t think there’s anything significant about it?”

“Not at all,” Rosie said, adjusting the strap of the camera like it was the most interesting thing in the room.

Annie just smiled at her before shrugging, “Fine. I’ll drop it…for now.”

Rosie laughed and gave her sister a playful shove toward the door. “Alright, time for you to go before you embarrass me any further.”

As Annie gathered her coat and bag, she turned back one last time. “You know, I really love seeing you like this, Rosie. Happy. And even if you won’t admit it, I think I have a certain Captain to thank for part of that.”

Rosie could only roll her eyes again as Annie left the room, the teasing lilt of her voice still ringing in her ears. Left alone, she glanced down at the camera in her hands, her mind replaying the warmth in Chris’s voice when he’d said her name.

And just for a moment, she let herself smile.

The door swung behind the last of the lower-level staffers as they quickly exited the room, having been beckoned by Thomas and Arthur, his junior security, to do so. Her arms crossed over her chest, feeling the tension ripple from her head to her toes as her jaw set anxiously.

“Your Royal Highness,” Thomas began, pausing momentarily as they met the other’s eyes. His brows furrowed as he looked over her, and she felt herself wanting to shrink under his beady stare.  “While we appreciate your... enthusiasm during today’s address, we must discuss the deviations from the prepared remarks.”

Rosie forced her shoulders back and her chin to rise, a defiant feeling stirring in her.  She had taken this narrative without argument for far too long, and was reminded of Annie’s words and compliments. She knew she did the right thing, even if the palace was too dense to realize. “I thought the speech I gave resonated better with the audience. The one the palace provided didn’t feel genuine.”

“Genuine,” he repeated, lips pursed as though the word tasted sour. “It is not the role of the monarchy to be genuine, Your Royal Highness. It is to be consistent. To preserve tradition.”

“I think it’s healthy for people to see the monarchy as human. They want to feel like the monarchy truly cares about them and understands what they feel,” Rosie firmly said, her eyes staying on Thomas. 

“It is precisely that humanity, Your Highness, that leads to destabilization. You are a symbol, not an individual.”

The words hit her like a slap in the face. Not an individual.

Rosie wanted to argue, to tell them they were wrong, but she could feel the weight of their judgment pressing down on her. They weren’t just critiquing her speech; they were reminding her that she was never allowed to be herself. 

“I think the monarchy needs to start adapting and listening to what the people want or we simply aren’t going to serve a purpose anymore,” she rebutted, but even she could tell that the words shook in the wake of that jab. 

“With all due respect, I don’t think that’s for you to decide Princess,” Thomas answered, and her heart sank with the soft chuckles that escaped many of the top-level staffers around the room. 

Rosie ran a hand down her blazer, trying to buy time as she smoothed a non-existent wrinkle from the pristinely-pressed fabric. “If I’m the one who’s upholding it, then I think it is.” 

Thomas’ eyes narrowed as he looked at her, and this time it was Arthur who spoke up. “This is not a discussion about what you think is best. Your role is to follow the guidelines set forth by the institution. The monarchy has thrived for centuries because it does not bend to the whims of the moment,” he informed her, his voice like nails on a chalkboard even at the best of times to Rosie, let alone now. 

“And I think that’s why it feels so out of touch now,” she all but pleaded, however she willed her voice to not sound desperate and vulnerable. Instead, she forced her tone to remain even, strong, and steadfast as she insisted, “The world has changed. People have changed. If we can’t change with them, we’ll be left behind.”

“This is not a debate, Your Highness. The Crown must remain above such sentiments. You represent stability, not controversy. You’ve already put too much personality and your own thoughts into the monarchy in the past and we aren’t going to see that happen again.”

The words hit her like a blow to the chest, knocking the air out of her. She swore she could never do anything right in their eyes, whether it was the way she wore flats underneath a long dress after weeks of the highest heels aching her feet, or the way they criticized the smiles they trained her to always have glued to her face. She could never win, and it was starting to bring her down in a way that seemingly enjoyed. 

But she vowed to herself that she wouldn’t back down. This was too important to her, and it seemed like the build up of many years of struggle between the palace staffers and herself. If anything, she’d promised to herself to fight for the chance to keep what little individuality and autonomy she had amongst this dour institution. “I stand by what I said. If we want to truly serve the people, then we have to show them that we care—not just with words, but with actions. That’s what I believe, and that’s the kind of leader I want to be.”

“You’re not the head of your monarchy, your father is King and Prince James is the heir apparent so they are the leaders,” Thomas reminded her, amusement flickering in his eyes as she huffed a sigh. “While you’re stepping in James’ role, you need to follow in his ways, not yours.” 

“Well I’m not James,” she muttered, hating the constant comparison to the golden heir. She swore nothing she did would ever be sufficient in their eyes, and it wasn’t because of James. It was because he’d been molded from a very young age to be the perfect ruler one day, whereas she was only trained up to a certain degree just enough to be able to step in if need be. She was never good enough, and would never be, not unless she had been the eldest. 

“You certainly are not.” 

The words echoed in Rosie’s mind as she left the room, refusing to look them in the eyes as Arthurt told her that her father would be calling in the morning to go over things with her. She headed up the stairwell hastily, heading to her quarters to change out of the clothing from the event and into something more comfortable. She debated staying in her room for the rest of the night, but the balcony across the hall from her room was calling her, almost incessantly. 

The late evening air felt cool against Rosie’s flushed cheeks as she stepped out onto the private balcony, her arms wrapped around herself. The city lights glittered in the distance, their soft glow contrasting with the chaos still swirling in her mind. The conversation with the advisors played on a loop in her head, each word a reminder of how trapped she felt in the role she hadn’t asked for.

She let out a long breath, resting her hands on the stone balustrade, staring out at the skyline as if it could offer her answers. The soft sound of footsteps behind her broke her thoughts, and she didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“For being on my security team, you’re not good at sneaking up on me,” she murmured. She felt her cheeks warm at the soft chuckle that escaped him as the door shut quietly, leaving them alone on the balcony. 

His steps drew closer as he came to stand next to her, leaning as his arms rested on the railing. “I’m a pilot, we’re better at showing off,” he shrugged, and she could see the wry grin that spread across his face as she turned to look at him. 

“So I’ve noticed,” Rosie murmured, feeling some tension begin to leave her body at his company. 

They fell silent for several moments, just staring out at the sky beyond them. It was comfortable, and far more peaceful than most of the evening had felt for her. Chris dropped his head staring out at the grounds below before turning to look at her and asked, “Rough meeting?” 

“Let’s just say I’ve been thoroughly reminded of my place after giving a speech that I wrote myself rather than the one they fed me that only succeeds in making everyone feel like they’re going to fall asleep,” she explained with only a small roll of her eyes. She paused, then waved her hand as she added, “And now I’m pretty sure they think I’m going to single-handedly bring down the monarchy with my ‘radical’ ideas about being human.”

His eyebrows shot up, his jaw dropping. “Radical ideas like caring about people?” He repeated, incredulously and disbelievingly. 

“Exactly,” she agreed, relieved he saw the hypocrisy in their words. She shook her head, rhetorically asking,  “Can you imagine? A royal showing emotion? Connecting with the people? Truly scandalous.”

He laughed, but while the sound had quickly become one of her favorites lately, it did nothing to distract her from the insecurity rising within her. At every turn, she was badgered for the tiniest of choices, no matter what she did. It felt like she could never win, and while Rosie had struggled with this for years, the true weight of this burden was starting to be too much for her to carry alone. 

“It’s not just about the speech,” she told Chris, her voice quiet and quivering with the admission. “It’s everything. The way they look at me, the way they talk to me… it’s like I’m not even a person to them. Just some symbol. A walking, talking portrait of the monarchy. But I can’t do it anymore, Chris. I can’t keep pretending to be someone I’m not. No matter what I do, I’m just a poor substitute for James.”

“You’re not just the spare, Ro. Not to the people who really matter,” he told her earnestly, and while she knew that must be true, it didn’t help when her entire world revolved around that simple fact. 

She turned, looking helplessly into his deep blue eyes, searching for something to grasp onto within them. “Then why does it feel like that’s all I’ll ever be? Like no matter what I do, it’ll never be enough for them?” She asked him hopelessly. 

“Who are they?” Chris quietly asked.

“The palace. The institution. The ones who run every moment of my life.” 

“Fuck them,” he told her quickly, causing her to sigh and roll her eyes. She felt, again, that no one could ever understand the struggle of being in this position, not unless they too were, but Chris rushed to explain, “No, I’m serious, fuck them and what they say Rosie. The speeches you normally give couldn’t be more aloof and out of touch. They sound like every other canned thing that royals say that make all of us roll our eyes.” 

She was completely silent as she listened to him go on, “You want to know why you’re so popular with average people, Rosie? Because you used to sound like us. You would give speeches that came from your heart and you meant the things you said. You were someone everyone felt like they could relate to, not some girl with a silver spoon in her mouth. People want who you are. They want your individuality. They want Rosie.” 

At that moment, it almost felt like someone was speaking a foreign language to her. Never in her life had Rosie ever heard someone say something even remotely similar to the words she just heard. In fact, she had just heard the opposite and had been hearing that same sentiment over the years.  She couldn’t even count the times she had been in a closed room, a small group of grey haired men telling her in detail all the ways she had gone wrong, misrepresented the royal family, and just all in all wasn’t who they really wanted. She was too opinionated, showed too much emotion, wrote the wrong things, was too soft, she was just too… wrong. 

She wasn’t stupid and certainly was well aware of the headlines that celebrated the people’s princess. She knew there were crowds of people at the events she was at, the thousands of letters she received from the public each week, and how the popularity of the royal family had soared since she came into the public eye but that seemed to only make it worse. It felt like the more she made headlines and the more the public became fans of hers, the more criticism from the palace, and her father, she got.

And now, now when she had decided she was going to take back some of that control and actually say what she wanted to say, yet again she had been berated for it. She was reminded that she was a square peg in a round hole that just never seemed to fit.  But right now, hearing from someone who had grown up as a normal person and chosen to dedicate his life to serving the country she represented, that people wanted her for almost more than her brain could process. 

“Being me is what’s gotten me into trouble,” she admitted in a small, wavering voice. 

“Maybe with some stuffy old guys who have been locked in that palace for a helluva long time, but trust me, that’s not what everyone else thinks,” Chris challenged her. 

“I just don’t understand why the public can think one thing and literally everyone at the palace tells me the complete opposite," she was exhausted from the seemingly endless debate that had quite literally ruled most of her life. 

“Because they’re wrong,” he said simply, his tone firm and unwavering. “You don’t need their approval to be enough. You already are. And that speech you gave today?” He shook his head slightly, a faint smile touching his lips. “It was the best thing I’ve heard in years. You didn’t just speak—you connected. You reminded people why they care about the monarchy in the first place. That’s something no one else could’ve done.”

Rosie stared at him, his words sinking deeper than she wanted to admit. “You really think that?”

“I know it,” he said, holding her gaze. “And I think you know it too.”

She exhaled shakily, the tension in her shoulders easing just a bit. “It’s just... exhausting, you know? Fighting them all the time, feeling like I’m shouting into a void. Some days, I don’t even know why I bother.”

Chris’s expression softened even further, and for a moment, he hesitated, as if weighing his words carefully. Then he said, “You bother because you care. Because you want to make a difference. That’s what makes you you, Rosie. That’s what people love you for.”

She bit her lower lip as she struggled, taking his words in earnestly. Feeling the weight of his gaze on her, she moved her eyes from the stone floor beneath their feet to meet his. “Maybe you should be the ones writing my speeches,” she suggested, only half-kidding. 

The corners of his lips turned, first moving to a grin before they reached a smirk. “I’m too busy flying your plane and kicking your ass in tennis,” he reminded her. 

Rosie felt the tension leave her body, knowing his earlier words were right. But this, this joking, playful banter was exactly what she needed, and she knew Chris knew it just as much as she. “I don’t remember the latter being in your job description,” she murmured, shifting her weight between her feet as she snuck a glance onto the quiet grounds below.  

“I threw that in for free,” he shot back, and her breath threatened to hitch at the hidden meaning beneath those words. 

The one that seemed dangerous. Like she should lock it in a box and leave it in the middle of a lake, never to be touched for fear of ruining it. Of ruining him. 

But her racing mind seemed to be of no concern to Chris, his tall frame moving to lean against the railing. He was silent, as if he was leaving her to her thoughts, in a way that was supportive even without words being spoken. 

“Thank you, Chris,” Rosie told him, the words practically trembling as they left her, her voice just barely loud enough for him to hear. 

“For what?”

Rosie paused, looking sideways at him, seeing his sweet, sincere expression, the one that would read as insincere on any other person in this building. Yet without hesitation, she knew just how honest it was. She was struck at how easy it was for him to be like this, to never waver from his morals. “For being here. For making me feel like…I matter.” 

“You do matter, Rosie,” his brows furrowed as he whispered, face screwing up as though the idea, the mere implication of something otherwise disgusted him. As she nodded, feeling the warmth of comfort within those words cascade over her. He gave a pleased look at the shift in her expression, nodding to her as a wide, sideways grin appeared on his face. “And I don’t want to see you let those men in grey take away the incredible moment you had today.” 

But suddenly, Rosie wasn’t here on this balcony, the early spring chill sending goosebumps down her arms with the odd breeze. She was far younger, in her room, back where she first saw that smile. 

Rosie was seventeen, her textbooks and notes scattered across the floor of her sitting room. The muffled hum of voices from the garden below barely registered as she worked through her history essay, her focus half-hearted at best. But then, a burst of laughter broke through the stillness, drawing her attention to the window.

Peering out, she saw James and his best friend—Chris. They were jogging back toward the palace, drenched in sweat, their hair sticking to their foreheads as they grinned at each other. A soccer ball was tucked under James’s arm, and Chris’s jersey was slung over his shoulder, leaving his toned, sun-kissed arms and chest exposed. 

She knew Chris had been coming around more often—James had talked about him endlessly. His friend from school, the one who was training to join the Air Force, the one who always had James’s back. Rosie had seen him in passing a handful of times, but this was the first time she really noticed him.

He was gorgeous. There was no other way to put it. With his strong jawline, easy smile, and natural confidence, Chris was... distracting and unlike anyone else she’d seen before.

As they neared the side entrance of the palace, she heard James groan dramatically. “Mate, you stink. I’m serious. You need a shower before anyone lets you back in here.”

Chris laughed, shoving James lightly in the shoulder. “You’re one to talk. I’m pretty sure your royal sweat is worse than mine.”

Rosie couldn’t help but smile at the easy banter between them, but her eyes stayed glued to Chris. He didn’t look like anyone else in the palace—he was casual, unpolished, and radiated an effortless charm that contrasted so sharply with the buttoned-up world she lived in.

Before they disappeared inside, Chris glanced up at her window. For a second, their eyes met. She froze, unsure if he had actually noticed her or if it was just a coincidence.

And then, he smiled.

It wasn’t flirtatious or self-assured, but kind and warm, as if to say, ‘Hi, I see you.’

Her cheeks burned, and she ducked away from the window, her heart racing.

“Oh my god,” she blurted, jaw dropping and eyes widening. 

Chris’ grin dropped, straightening up as he quickly glanced around, seemingly worried that something had happened, or perhaps someone had seen the two. “What?” He asked, repeating it again when she didn’t answer quickly enough. 

“I remember you,” Rosie told him, reaching her hand out to grasp his arm. He couldn’t have remembered, it was the slightest - the smallest - interaction amongst the busiest times in their lives - with Chris in University and Rosie pulling double duty with school and Royal Duties. “We’ve met before!” 

But it was Rosie’s turn to be surprised as he laughed, his opposite hand moving to scratch the back of his head absentmindedly. “Yeah a few times actually,” he informed her. 

She was torn. Torn between the admission that he remembered meeting her several times, none of which she remembered, and wanting to laugh. She felt like an absolute idiot and an asshole for not remembering something like this, not remembering the laugh she’d come to love hearing, the winks he shot her throughout the day, and just Chris. She wanted nothing more to apologize, feeling awful for not remembering something he so clearly did, but the laughter that escaped him, the unrestrained, uncontrollable, full-body laughter that escaped him, that he kept just quiet enough to not draw any attention to the balcony, kept her from letting the ‘You are an idiot!’ side from winning.  

“You remember meeting me?” She finally asked, her hand twitching with a want to slide up and hold his bicep. She quickly dropped it from his arm, putting it back on the railing as she leaned her hip against it. 

Chris scoffed, as if the idea was preposterous. “Of course I do,” he replied. 

Her brows furrowed and her head tilted to the side, studying his expression. He wasn’t mad, that much was obvious to her. He wasn’t upset. He wasn’t…. Anything. And that was the issue, she couldn’t read him, and if it was the years of training, the years and years he spent learning to push aside his emotions for duty - something she knew all too well - that gave him that ability, she’d never be able to tell. “Why didn’t you say anything?” She finally asked, her voice soft as she anxiously picked a cuticle, knowing her manicurist would chastise her later for it. 

A sheepish look appeared on Chris’ face and he shrugged, but his voice was anything but embarrassed as he admitted, “Well with how many people you meet in a week, I didn’t expect you to remember and I didn’t want to make you feel bad.” 

Rosie nodded slowly, still wishing he had reminded her. For so long, she had resented the fact that he was another outsider, another person with no connection to her beyond James - like so many before. 

But now? Now she felt like memories were coming back in waves, with ten more coming to the surface and settling in her mind to digest, just before a new set came crashing in. Chris and James watching movies at the upcountry estate, laughter echoing through the halls as Rosie practiced piano with her instructor. Chris spending the first night of school holidays in James’ quarters before heading back home for the remainder. Rosie watching James’ university soccer match, walking side by side with the exhausted Chris and James back to their dorm afterwards.

“I’m surprised you remember,” she whispered to him, knowing all those memories would have been locked away in her mind forever, stuck down endless corridors until someone - Chris - could have reminded her of them, could have given her the key to remembering, if he ever would be able to in that world. 

But for as often as she had been surprised by herself and Chris today, there seemed to be one last one for the night. “It’s not everyday I meet someone like you,” he told her, and it was enough to feel as though the wind got knocked out of her. It was hidden behind the simplest of words. The most innocent, and yet, it meant more than she could have ever hoped and dreamed. 

Chris simply smiled at Rosie before he bid her a goodnight, and she bit back the selfish protest that threatened to rise as he slipped through the door back inside, heading down the hallway. She couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help any of it. She had tried to fight it - fight all of this - for so long, and yet here she was. Completely and utterly in the palm of his hand. And worst of all? 

She never would deserve something like Chris. She could never - not this kind, smart, man, who would likely run back to his Air Force role as soon as the plane touched back down and she returned to the capital of Ellington. 

He was here for duty and a favor. She was here as an unwilling Royal, destined for a life of handshakes and kind, fake smiles while he had his head in the clouds. 

With a sigh, Rosie pushed herself off the railing, heading back inside and down the hall to her quarters. The door shut soundly behind herself as she sighed again, running a frustrated hand through her blonde hair. 

She was so stupid to let herself get so comfortable with Chris. What chance did she really have with him? The thoughts raced through her mind as she tied her hair back, washing her face clear of the usual makeup she’d had applied for the event earlier that night. 

Only this time, one pushed to the forefront of her mind. He was there. He had, as she just remembered, always been there. No matter where she ran into him over the years, she couldn’t help but realize that his smile, while virtually ever-present, had changed. It had grown…. Softer. More comfortable and more relaxed as the tour had progressed, even when compared to what she remembered from years ago. 

She wasn’t the only one that had changed during this tour. And she wanted to kick herself for only just now realizing this. 

With a decisive look in the mirror, Rosie slipped a jacket over her shoulders and her shoes back onto her feet, she headed back out of the door. Letting her feet carry her, she moved quickly through the otherwise quiet estate, ignoring the few guards she saw relaxing and enjoying the quiet evening. 

She turned the corner, counting the doors until she reached her final destination. With a bite of her lower lip, her hand hesitated momentarily, before quickly rapping on the door. 

She could hear movement from within the room, knowing that her intrusion was unexpected. Footsteps shuffled closer, before the handle clicked and the door swung open. 

“Rosie?” Chris asked, his hand moving to pass through his rumpled brown hair. She gave him a sheepish look, enjoying the sight of him in his sweatpants and wrinkled tee - for once, he looked comfortable in this big estate. “What’s going on?” 

“What makes you think something is going on?” Rosie bit back, a smirk on her lips. 

“Because you’re standing outside my door in the middle of the night looking like you’re up to no good,” Chris replied easily, but the soft look in his eyes matched the grin on his face. 

Rosie leaned against the door, shrugging slightly as her hands fiddled with the worn hem of her baggy sweatshirt. “I just wanted to see if you wanted to go get ice cream?” She asked, her voice hopeful, almost afraid of his rejection. 

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head at her as he sarcastically said, “What? You need an escort to go to the kitchen now?” 

“I’m not going to the kitchen, I want to go downtown. I’m sneaking out,” she informed him, dropping her hands from the hem of her sweatshirt as she stood up straighter. “Are you in?” 

She saw the curiosity peak in his eyes - the flash of desire to jump in headfirst with her. But he couldn’t let her win too quickly. “Sneaking out with the princess? I could lose my job for that, ya know?” He told her with an overexaggerated sigh. 

Rosie couldn’t help but play along in this little game they had. She couldn’t tell you when it started, when it took off, but she was grasping onto it tightly with both hands, trying to keep it close. “Then I’ll just make sure you get hired back,” she retorted with a wink. 

Chris’ eyes narrowed at her and they were both quiet for a few beats. “What kind of ice cream are we talking about, here?” He finally asked her with another sigh, leaning his shoulder against the door. 

Her eyebrow arched sharply, mulling over what may be the thing to tip him onto her side. “I’ll buy you whatever kind you want,” she offered, even though it was already her plan. 

“Well I guess I can’t refuse that,” he sighed after a moment, shaking his head with a soft grin. He looked into her eyes, raised a single brow at her and asked, “So how are you planning on getting out of here without getting tailed by your security?” 

“I have a plan…” she said, nodding her head to the window behind him. 

“You’re kidding,” he began with a sharp intake of breath, grabbing her arm when she made a move to walk into the room. His voice dropped lower, almost as if he was worried someone may hear them, “Ro, this is the third floor.”

She tried to shrug him off, but couldn’t help the way goosebumps peppered her skin at his touch. “There’s a trellis, it’ll be easy to just climb down,” she reminded him, nodding her head as if to reassure him. 

“Absolutely not.”

Rosie leveled him with a look, her head tilted. “C’mon, it’s nothing I haven’t done before,” she shot back, knowing 

“I wholeheartedly believe that,” he told her, his voice still low but without a trace of disbelief. His hand didn’t move off her hand, if anything, his grip tightened, causing her heart to race. “But I’m still not about to have you break your neck for ice cream.” 

With a deep sigh, she looked up at him through her eyelashes. “You got a better plan?” She asked.

It was his turn to roll his eyes as he pushed himself off the door, his hand dropping as he moved to get his shoes. “Just about anything I come up with will be better than that,” he told her, tossing the words over his shoulder as he slipped his feet into the sneakers haphazardly. 

“Then lead the way, Captain,” she smirked. 

She followed him through the estate, through the back corridors and stairwells she’d yet to venture down but he seemed to know like the back of his hand. They had just reached the final hallway when his hand darted backwards towards her, stopping her in her tracks without a word as footsteps drew closer and closer, until the click of a door echoed through the otherwise quiet house. Quickly, they darted out without a second glance, not making a sound until they slipped out of the front gate and made their way towards the nearby town square. 

Rosie gave into the temptation to sneak a glance at him, wanting nothing more than to see the sideways, boyish grin on his moonlit face as he laughed. But she hadn’t expected to see his eyes trailed on her as they moved farther from the estate and closer to reality. 

The butterflies stayed in her stomach as they reached an ice cream store, drawing her sleeves over her hand as they quickly ordered, paid, and left, strolling the empty streets lazily. Neither of them seemed to want to go back. Neither rushed, neither turned the other back towards the tree-lined street to head back home. 

They talked - about what? She couldn’t tell you. Everything under the sun, it seemed. But based on Chris’ expressions, his laughter, and the way his eyes crinkled when he grinned, she knew it wasn’t just her having a good time. When he grabbed her napkins, tossing them in the trash along with his own, she found herself disappointed as they turned onto the tree-lined street. Tonight, this adventure, it felt like medicine to her. She’d been craving something, some anonymity, some normalcy. And slipping out, walking side by side with Chris as they laughed, and not having anyone bat an eye at them in town was therapeutic. 

She wasn’t even disappointed when they made it back. If anything, she felt revitalized, refreshed, and eager for more. Being with him felt almost natural, effortless. The two of them, together, moving through the night as if it was meant to be. They snuck back in, retracing their steps without a second thought. As she followed him through the halls, she inhaled deeply, feeling the warmth as their hands brushed.

Rosie felt it coming.

Maybe not tonight, maybe not right now, but at some point, this was always going to happen.  

Chris had become… something to her. Someone. Someone steady, someone who didn’t treat her like she was fragile or untouchable. Someone who teased her and laughed with her, who felt like she was real and had actual feelings. Someone who had, without her realizing it, become the person she wanted to turn to when things felt heavy.  

And right now, walking beside him through the quiet palace halls, she felt it more than ever.  

They’d been flirting for weeks, little things, small moments. A look held too long, a teasing remark with too much weight behind it, the walks he’d join her on or tennis matches he jumped practically headfirst into. But more than that, they had just become close somewhere along the way, Chris had become someone who made her feel normal. And not just normal, enjoyed.  

He liked her, and not because he was supposed to, not because she was a princess. He just liked her.

And she was crazy about him.  

It was why her heart was racing now, why she felt warm all over as they slowed in front of her door, standing just close enough that their arms brushed.  

“Well, Rosie,” Chris said, hands in his pockets, that lazy grin tugging at his lips. “Gotta say, breaking palace protocol for ice cream wasn’t exactly in my job description, but I think I’ll let it slide.”  

Rosie smirked, tilting her chin up, “You had fun.”  

“I didn’t say I didn’t,” he murmured, his voice quieter now.  

The air shifted, the teasing fading into something softer. More charged.  

She glanced up at him, heart hammering. He was watching her, that sharp blue gaze flickering over her face like he was committing every detail to memory. The way he looked at her, it made her feel like the most fascinating thing in the world.  

Chris liked her. And maybe, just maybe, he was just as crazy about her as she was about him.  

Her fingers brushed his forearm, and she felt his muscles tense under her touch.  

“Chris,” she said, barely more than a whisper.  

That was all it took.  

In an instant, his hand was on her waist, pulling her toward him, his other hand sliding up to cup her face, calloused fingers grazing her cheek. Her breath caught, anticipation curling in her stomach and then his lips were on hers.  

It wasn’t hesitant. It wasn’t careful. It was everything she had been waiting for, everything she had felt coming, everything that had been building between them.  

Chris kissed her like he had been holding back, like the floodgates had finally broken. And Rosie melted into him, her hands gripping his shirt, pulling him closer because close wasn’t close enough.  

She could feel his heart pounding, could hear the sharp breath he took through his nose before he tilted his head, deepening the kiss. He tasted like vanilla and something warm, something that made her dizzy.  

And it felt so good.  

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, their breaths mingling in the space between them.  

“Hell,” Chris muttered, his voice rough. “We shouldn’t have done that.”  

Rosie swallowed, trying to catch her breath, trying to think through the haze of him, “Why not?”  

He let out a breathless chuckle, shaking his head slightly. She expected something about duty or royal protocol to come out of his mouth but it surprised her to the core when he just smirked and stated,  “Because you’re trouble.”  

A slow, knowing smile pulled at her lips, “And yet, here you are.”  

Chris exhaled sharply, his hands still lingering on her. But then, finally, he let go, stepping back just slightly, enough to make her ache for him again.  

“Go inside, Ro,” he murmured, almost more to himself than her. 

She hesitated. Just for a second.  

But then she nodded, reaching for the doorknob. Before stepping inside, she looked back at him, her voice softer now. “Goodnight, Chris.”  

His lips twitched at the edges, something unreadable in his gaze. “Goodnight, Rosie.”  

And as she shut the door behind her, leaning against it, she closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to her lips, a breathless smile curling at the edges.  

Yeah.  

She was completely, hopelessly gone for him.

A/N: THANK YOU SO SO MUCH FOR YOUR PATIENCE! We cannot begin to tell you how much we appreciate it. There has been so much going on and while our brains never stopped thinking of Rosie (seriously, 🌯 listens to the playlist we've made for her nearly daily), we needed time to get this behemoth of a chapter out into the world. We hope it was worth the wait and cannot wait to hear all of your thoughts!

[k-evans-reads]

A Promise

A Carpenter!Chris and Nora drabble from Built to Last

The wind howled outside as Nora pulled her coat tighter around herself and knocked on Chris’s door. The power had gone out at her place an hour ago, and with it, the heat. Her house had been freezing, her toes numb even under a pile of blankets.  

Chris had answered her call immediately, telling her to come over without hesitation.  

The door swung open, and there he was… tall, broad, warm, standing in his doorway in sweats and a long-sleeved thermal, barefoot like the cold didn’t even touch him.  

“Jesus, baby,” he murmured, eyes raking over her as he pulled her inside. “You’re freezing.”  

Nora barely had time to respond before he was tugging her coat off, his big hands rubbing up and down her arms like he could warm her through sheer will.  

“I should’ve come and got you,” he muttered, leading her into the living room where the fire in his woodstove crackled, throwing soft, golden light across the room.  

“I’m fine,” she assured him, though her chattering teeth betrayed her.  

Chris shot her a look before pulling a blanket off the couch. But instead of draping it around her, he sat down in the oversized chair by the fire and tugged her right onto his lap.  

Nora gasped slightly, not because she minded—because she never minded—but because of how effortlessly he handled her, pulling her in like she weighed nothing.  

“Chris—”  

“Shhh, let me warm you up,” he murmured, wrapping the blanket around both of them and pulling her tighter against his chest.  

His arms curled around her, his hands rubbing slow, firm circles along her back, up and down her arms, over her thighs. She shivered, but not just from the cold.  

His body was solid, heat radiating from him like a furnace. She felt so tiny against him, completely wrapped up in his frame.  

“You’re like a little ice cube,” he mumbled, lips pressing to the top of her head.  

Nora let out a soft breath, nuzzling against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. “I think I like being an ice cube if it means you’ll hold me like this.”  

Chris chuckled, his grip tightening. “I’ll hold you like this whenever you want, baby. You don’t have to be frozen for it.”  

She smiled against him, feeling the last of the cold seep out of her bones, replaced with warmth… his warmth.  

They sat like that for a while, the fire crackling, the wind still howling outside, but none of it mattered. Not when she was wrapped up in him like this.  

Chris’s hand slid into her hair, gently scratching his fingers against her scalp, making her melt even further into him.  

“You know,” he said after a moment, voice deep and warm, “I was thinking…”  

Nora lifted her head slightly, looking up at him. “About what?”  

He smirked, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “About how you’re always ending up in my house, my bed, my arms…” He tipped her chin up, eyes searching hers. “Maybe it should just be our house.”  

Nora’s breath caught.  

Chris gave her a slow, lazy smile, thumb brushing over her lips. “Been wanting to marry you for a long time, sweetheart.” His voice was low, rough with emotion, “I know I want you forever.”  

Her stomach flipped, her fingers curling into his shirt.  

He said it so easily, so casually, like it was a fact. Like he had no doubt in his mind.  

Nora swallowed hard, “You’re serious?”  

Chris grinned, pressing his lips to her temple. “Dead serious. Thinking I’ll keep you forever.”  

A rush of warmth flooded her chest, her fingers gripping him even tighter.  

She had no words, only the overwhelming feeling of safety, love, and home in his arms.  

Chris kissed the top of her head, holding her even closer.  

“Think about it, baby,” he murmured. “Not like I’m going anywhere.”

Nora pressed her face against his chest, her heart pounding, her fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt like she was holding onto something too precious to let slip away.  

Chris wanted to marry her. He had been wanting to.  

She squeezed her eyes shut, overwhelmed in the best way. She had never imagined someone could love her like this—with certainty, with unwavering devotion, with this.  

She felt him press another kiss to her hair, his hands rubbing slow, soothing circles over her back like he wasn’t in any rush, like he’d hold her for as long as she needed.  

And maybe that was what undid her most of all.  

Because she knew.  

Lifting her head, she looked up at him, her eyes shining in the dim firelight. She saw everything in his gaze—his patience, his love, the way he’d wait forever for her to say the words if she needed to.  

But she didn’t need time.  

She knew.

Her throat felt tight as she rested her hand over his heart, feeling the steady rhythm beneath her palm.  

“I know I want it too,” she whispered, her voice small but certain. “I want us… forever.”  

Chris exhaled sharply, his grip tightening around her like he was grounding himself. His jaw flexed, his eyes searching hers, like he needed to make sure he’d heard her right.  

And then, so softly, she added, “I love you so much, Chris.”  

A quiet groan left his lips before he cupped the back of her neck and kissed her. Not rushed, not demanding, just deep, steady, like he was taking in*m what she had just given him.  

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers, his breath warm against her skin, “You have no idea how much I love you.”  

She smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck, pressing herself closer, sinking into him completely.  

He was home.  

And she never wanted to leave.

[k-evans-reads]

Okay so I was looking at inspo pics for that other story @k and I were talking about and like when redacted is in full redacted gear or for a formal event in redacted… Something about a man in redacted that always does it for me 🤭

Oh girl SAME! I have one specific scene in mind that has me WEAK!

[k-evans-reads]

@ynstark Right?! We all need a carpenter Chris in our lives!

Built To Last

A collection of drabbles about Nora, a quiet small town bookstore owner and what happens when a charismatic carpenter comes to build some new shelves in her shop.

MAIN MASTERLIST Drabbles:

Meeting

Book Rec

Bold and Adventurous

First Date

Why Carpentry?

Valentine’s Day - Part 1 - Part 2

The Kiss

That Doesn’t Belong

Being Yours

A New Dresser

Book Rec Part 2

Interrogation

I Love You

Morning Kiss

Airport

You’re Bleeding

Moving Boxes

The Firing Squad

The Fever

[k-evans-reads]

What does breakfast/morning times look like for Chris and Nora on a weekend?

The sun peeked through the curtains, casting a golden glow across the bedroom as Chris stirred awake. The house was quiet except for the soft rustling of sheets as he stretched, his arm instinctively reaching out to the other side of the bed.

His fingers brushed against warm, soft skin, and he cracked his eyes open, a slow smile spreading across his face as he found Nora curled up beside him. She was still tucked under the covers, her breathing even, her cheek resting against the pillow in the most peaceful way.

Chris propped himself up on an elbow, watching her for a moment. There was something about waking up next to her that never got old. She looked so small in their big bed, her dark lashes resting against her cheeks, her lips slightly parted. His heart clenched at how sweet and soft she was, how lucky he was to have this quiet little woman curled up beside him.

He couldn’t help himself—he leaned in and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to her shoulder before murmuring, “Mornin’, sweetheart.”

Nora stirred with a sleepy sigh, her lips curving into a drowsy smile before she even opened her eyes. She shifted closer, pressing her face against his chest as she hummed softly in response. “Mmm, too early.”

Chris chuckled, wrapping his arms around her, pressing his lips to her hair. “It’s never too early when I wake up next to you.”

She let out a quiet, sleepy laugh against his skin, and the sound went straight to his heart. He loved that she was still slow to wake, still lingering in that peaceful haze, still letting herself be held by him.

After a few more minutes of just laying there—Chris tracing his fingers along her back, Nora slowly waking up—she finally stretched, sighing contentedly. “You’re warm.”

“I try,” he teased, pressing a kiss to her temple before reluctantly pulling back. “C’mon, let’s get up. I’ll make breakfast.”

Nora peeked up at him through her lashes, her eyes still heavy with sleep. “You always make breakfast.”

Chris grinned. “Yeah, well, I’m really good at it.”

She giggled, finally sitting up and pushing her hair out of her face. “You just don’t like how I measure things when I cook.”

“That’s because you don’t measure anything, babe,” he teased, sliding out of bed and stretching. “You just throw stuff in the pan and hope for the best.”

Nora rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement. “It always turns out fine.”

Chris smirked as he reached for a sweatshirt, tugging it over his head before offering her his hand. “C’mon, let’s go see if we can keep the kitchen intact.”

She slipped her hand into his, her fingers small and soft against his calloused palm, and let him pull her out of bed.

Downstairs, the morning felt slow and easy. Chris moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, flipping pancakes while Nora stood at the counter, sipping her tea and watching him with an amused smile. She always loved how effortlessly he carried himself, how he turned something as simple as making breakfast into an art.

Chris caught her staring and smirked, sliding a plate of pancakes in front of her. “You just like watchin’ me work, huh?”

Nora blushed but didn’t deny it, taking a bite of pancake instead. “Mmm, these are perfect.”

Chris grinned, sitting down beside her and reaching for his coffee. “Damn right, they are.”

They ate in easy, comfortable silence, the sound of rain lightly tapping against the window, the smell of coffee and syrup filling the house.

And as Chris looked across the table at Nora—her hair still messy from sleep, her sweater slipping slightly off her shoulder, her soft smile just for him—he felt it again. That overwhelming feeling of love, of gratitude, of knowing that nothing in the world could be better than this.

A slow Saturday morning, pancakes, and the woman he loved.

Yeah. Life was real damn good.

[k-evans-reads]

4th of July

A Carpenter!Chris and Nora drabble from Built to Last

Nora hadn’t grown up with big family parties. Her brothers and dad weren’t exactly the celebratory type, so things like Fourth of July had always been more about grilling burgers in the backyard and setting off a handful of fireworks before calling it a night.

Chris’ family, though? They went all out.

The second they stepped into his aunt and uncle’s backyard, she was hit with the smell of barbecue, the sound of classic rock blasting from the speakers, and the sight of kids running wild through the grass with sparklers.

Chris, of course, fit into the chaos like he was made for it.

Within minutes, he had a beer in one hand, was throwing a football with his cousin in the other, and had already been pulled into an intense debate with one of his uncles about the best way to grill ribs.

And, as if that wasn’t enough, he also had every single child at the party completely wrapped around his finger.

Nora had just fixed herself a plate of food when she heard a chorus of giggles, and when she turned, she nearly dropped the plate altogether.

Chris was in the grass, hands on his knees, staring down a group of little kids like he was in some kind of Wild West standoff.

“You sure you wanna do this?” he asked, his voice all mock-seriousness as he pointed at the group. “’Cause I don’t hold back. I will.”

A little girl with blonde pigtails stomped her foot. “You said you’d play tag, Uncle Chris!”

Chris sighed, long and exaggerated. “Alright, alright. But don’t start cryin’ when you realize how fast I am.”

The kids screamed, and Chris barely had time to set his beer down before they charged him.

Nora could only stand there, completely useless, as she watched a full-grown man get tackled to the grass by no less than five children.

And he was loving it.

He let them pile on top of him, arms flailing dramatically as he yelled, “Ah! My one weakness, small, determined children!”

The kids howled with laughter, rolling over him, tugging at his arms, trying to pin him down while he made a great show of struggling.

And Nora?

She was done for.

It wasn’t just that he was good with kids, it was how he was with them. So fun, so easygoing, so naturally charismatic. He treated them like they were just as important as the adults, like their games mattered, their jokes were hilarious, their victories well-earned.

And dammit, her heart couldn’t handle it.

She bit her lip, watching as he let the kids dogpile him for a few more minutes before finally groaning dramatically and collapsing in defeat. “Alright, alright! You got me!”

“Yes!” the little girl with pigtails cheered, throwing her arms in the air. “We win!”

Chris laid there, flat on his back, chest heaving like he’d just fought in a war. Then, as if sensing Nora’s eyes on him, he turned his head, found her standing by the food table, and grinned.

That slow, knowing grin that made her stomach drop to her toes.

She crossed her arms, fighting a smile, “You having fun?”

He sat up, rubbing a hand through his messy hair. “Oh, you love watching me get my ass kicked by a bunch of six-year-olds.”

“Maybe a little.”

He climbed to his feet, jogging over to her, still grinning as he pulled her close by the waist. “You like seein’ me covered in grass stains, huh?”

Nora shook her head, biting back a laugh, “No. I like watching you be so good with them.”

Chris’ teasing expression softened slightly, something flickering behind his eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she murmured.

He looked at her for a long moment, then reached up and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, voice quieter when he spoke. “Well, don’t go gettin’ too many ideas, baby. You keep lookin’ at me like that, and I’m gonna start thinkin’ about givin’ you a few little ones to chase around.”

Nora’s breath hitched, heat creeping up her neck. “Chris—”

He smirked, pressed a kiss to her cheek, then leaned down to whisper, “Later,” before grabbing his beer and jogging back toward the kids—like he hadn’t just obliterated her with one sentence.

And when the fireworks finally went off that night, Nora was pretty damn sure the ones in the sky had nothing on the ones in her chest.

[k-evans-reads]

Fatherly Approval

A Carpenter!Chris and Nora drabble from Built to Last

Hank sat behind the bookstore counter, flipping absently through an old hunting magazine he’d brought with him. He wasn’t much for books, but he liked spending time here when he could, liked the way it smelled like paper and coffee, liked seeing his daughter in her element—even if, in his opinion, she worked too damn hard.  

Today, though, she didn’t look like herself.  

Nora sat at the register, her chin resting in her hand, her eyes heavy-lidded with exhaustion. She’d been rubbing her temple off and on, and Hank didn’t have to ask to know she had a headache.  

What he hadn’t expected was for the front door to open and for Chris to walk in, carrying a to-go cup from the coffee shop down the street.  

Chris was covered in sawdust, his boots tracking in a bit of dirt from outside, his flannel sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked like he’d been working since dawn, which he probably had, but his face was relaxed and easy as he walked straight toward Nora.  

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, setting the cup on the counter in front of her. “Figured you could use some tea.”  

Then he glanced over at Hank, giving him a respectful nod. “Hey, Hank.”  

Hank nodded back. “Chris.”  

Nora blinked up at Chris in surprise, then down at the cup. “How did you—?”  

Chris just shrugged. “You’ve had a headache all morning, haven’t you?”  

She nodded, looking almost shy about it, and he reached out to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear.  

“Thought so.”  

Hank leaned back in his chair, watching quietly as Chris made himself useful without a second thought. The kid was supposed to be on his lunch break, but instead of taking it easy, he was here, looking after Nora like it was second nature.  

Before Nora could even thank him properly, Chris glanced toward the back of the store, frowning at the stack of boxes she’d clearly been meaning to move.  

“You’re not lifting those,” he said, already walking over.  

“Chris—”  

He shot her a look over his shoulder. “Not a chance, honey.”  

Hank chuckled under his breath as Chris crouched, gripping the heaviest box with ease and hauling it to its proper place like it was nothing. The kid barely seemed to strain, moving through the bookstore like he owned the place, setting things in order without being asked.  

“You need this ladder still?” Chris called, nodding toward the aluminum step ladder Nora had left out near the shelves.  

She hesitated. “No, I was just—”  

Chris folded it up in one smooth motion, carrying it toward the back room. “Then it doesn’t need to be in the way.”  

Nora sighed, exasperated but clearly endeared. “You know, I do actually run this bookstore.”  

Chris returned to the counter, brushing his hands off and leaning over to press a kiss to her temple. “Yeah, but you don’t have to do everything yourself.”  

Hank shook his head with a quiet chuckle, watching the way Chris softened when he looked at Nora, the way he didn’t just show up—he paid attention. Noticed what she needed before she even had to ask.  

“You’re on your lunch break, aren’t you?” Nora said, narrowing her eyes. “Chris, go eat.”  

He smirked, tilting his head at her. “Yes, ma’am.” But then, lowering his voice so only she could hear, he murmured, “Take it easy, okay? I mean it.”  

Nora smiled softly, and Chris reached out, giving her hand a quick squeeze before heading for the door.  Hank watched him go, waited until the door swung shut behind him before his thoughts churned.

Hank didn’t know Chris all that well. He’d met him a handful of times—when Nora had brought him by for dinner, when he’d stopped into the bookshop, or when they’d run into each other at the hardware store. The kid was friendly, sure. Charismatic as hell, always quick with a grin and a joke. Hank had seen how easily he talked to just about anyone, how at ease he was in a room full of people. But charm only got a man so far.

Nora hadn’t dated much. Not that Hank had ever pried—he wasn’t that kind of dad—but he knew his daughter, knew she kept to herself more often than not. And when she did bring someone around, he figured it was worth paying attention.

And that’s what he’d been doing these past couple of months. Watching.

Chris had a good handshake. Good manners. But Hank had stayed undecided, not because he didn’t like the kid, but because he wanted to see—not hear, not be told, but see—how Chris really felt about his daughter.

And today he saw it. He saw it when Chris had a hundred things to do, probably had a truck full of tools waiting for him outside, and instead of taking his lunch break, he was here, moving boxes for her, tucking away a ladder, pressing a kiss to her temple like it was second nature.

Not for show. Not because Hank was sitting right there. Just because he wanted to.

Hank had seen a lot of men in his life—good men, bad men, the kind of men who talked big but never followed through. But watching Chris now, seeing the way he paid attention, how he didn’t need to be asked to take care of her… well.

Hank didn’t say much, never had. He let his observations sit with him for a while before making up his mind about a person.

And right now, as he looked at his daughter—sitting there with a soft little smile, cradling that cup of tea like it was the kindest thing anyone had ever done for her—Hank figured his mind was made up.

Chris was the kind of man who took care of what was his. And more importantly, he looked at Nora like she was something to be taken care of.

Hank took a slow sip of his coffee, shaking his head.

“You know,” he mused, watching his daughter’s smile linger, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that boy sit still for more than two minutes. But for you? He makes the time.”

Nora’s cheeks flushed, but she just looked down at the tea, running her fingers around the lid.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “He does.”

Hank exhaled through his nose, nodding to himself as he went back to his magazine.

Chris was alright. More than alright.

And if Hank had anything to say about it, the kid would be sticking around.

[k-evans-reads]

Summer Heat

A Carpenter!Chris and Nora drabble from Built to Last

The air in Chris’s garage was thick with heat, the kind that clung to skin and made every movement feel slow and heavy. The wide-open door did little to help, only letting in the hazy afternoon light and the scent of cut wood. Sawdust floated lazily in the air, sticking to his bare chest and arms as he worked, the muscles in his back shifting and flexing with every move.  

Nora swallowed hard.  

She hadn’t meant to distract herself with staring, hadn’t even meant to stop by. But the walk from her bookshop had been unbearable in the thick summer heat, and Chris’s place was closer than home.  

She told herself she just needed to cool off before finishing the trip.  

But fuck, watching him work like that, his broad shoulders flexing, his strong back shining with a thin sheen of sweat, had her mind slipping to thoughts she probably shouldn’t be having in the middle of his garage. Thoughts of Chris above her, his skin hot and damp just like it was now, his muscles tight with exertion as he moved… 

She shook herself, pressing her thighs together as she stepped further inside.  

Chris turned at the sound of her footsteps, wiping sweat from his forehead, and as soon as his eyes landed on her, she knew she was in trouble.  

His gaze dragged over her slowly, from her sandaled feet to the bare expanse of her legs, lingering on the hem of her sundress… much shorter than she usually wore, the fabric light and breezy, the straps barely there.  

Chris’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening before his lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk.  

“Sweetheart,” he drawled, setting his tools down. “That a new dress?”  

Nora shifted on her feet, feeling suddenly self-conscious under the weight of his stare. “It’s just for the heat,” she said, defensively.  

Chris hummed, stepping toward her, “Uh-huh.” His eyes flicked down again, sweeping over her legs before snapping back up to hers, “Think you forgot half of it.”  

Heat shot straight to her cheeks.  

“It’s not that short,” she argued, even though she knew it was a losing battle.  

Chris’s smirk widened as he reached for her, his rough, calloused hands finding her bare waist as he pulled her in, her hips pressing against his. He was still warm from working, his skin hot beneath her palms as she instinctively steadied herself against his chest.  

“Damn, baby,” he murmured, voice rough, “you do this on purpose?”  

Nora blinked, “Do what?”  

Chris exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head like she was driving him crazy. “Walk in here lookin’ like that. All soft and sweet. Tell me it’s just ‘cause of the heat while you’re standing there with those tiny little straps slipping off your shoulders.”  

His fingers slid up her arms, his thumbs teasing at the straps, like he was considering just taking them off.  

Nora’s breath hitched.  

“I didn’t—”  

Chris leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of her ear. “Didn’t what?” His voice was pure sin, deep and thick with heat. “Didn’t think about how it’d make me feel? Seein’ you like this?”  

Nora swallowed, her fingers twisting into the waistband of his jeans. She had thought about it… at least a little. Maybe not in the way Chris was suggesting, but she had wanted him to notice.  

But now? Now she felt it.  

The tension in his body, the way his grip tightened on her waist like he was holding himself back.  

She felt powerful.  

She let her hands drift up, skimming over his chest, feeling the way his breath stuttered. She toyed with the soft hair there, running her fingers through it slowly, watching the way his lips parted as he stared down at her like she was driving him insane.  

“You’re all worked up over a dress?” she asked, tilting her head, feeling bolder than usual.  

Chris groaned, his hands sliding lower, gripping the backs of her thighs as he lifted her onto the workbench in one smooth motion.  

Nora gasped, her legs instinctively wrapping around his hips as he stepped between them, his big hands gripping her thighs, thumbs tracing slow circles against her overheated skin.  

Chris’s forehead pressed to hers, his voice thick. “I’m worked up over you, baby. The dress is just making it worse.”  

Nora’s heart pounded.  

Chris smirked, tilting her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze, “Nobody does this to me but you, you know that?”  

She swallowed hard, her fingers tightening in his hair, her breath coming in short, uneven pants.  

Chris kissed her, slow and deep, his lips claiming hers, making her forget everything else. The heat, the garage, the sawdust in the air… none of it mattered.  

It was just him.  

Just Chris and his hands on her skin, his mouth moving against hers like he needed her, like he’d been starving for this.  

She felt like she was melting, unraveling completely in his arms.  

And from the way Chris groaned against her lips, she had a feeling he was right there with her.  

When they finally pulled apart, both of them breathless. Chris stood between her legs, bare-chested and gleaming with sweat, his muscles flexing as he braced his hands on either side of her thighs. The heat in the garage was nothing compared to the heat rolling off him, the scent of sawdust and cedar clinging to his skin. His dark, sweat-dampened hair curled at the edges, and Nora had to fight the urge to run her fingers through it.  

She really should have thought this through before showing up in this dress.  

“Real tiny dress you got on, baby,” Chris murmured, his voice thick and rough, eyes locked on hers as his fingers trailed up her bare thigh. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you in somethin’ this short.”  

Nora swallowed, feeling every point of contact where his hands skimmed her skin. “It’s hot out,” she said, breathless.  

Chris smirked, his warm, calloused hands settling on her hips, thumbs stroking over the soft fabric of her sundress. “Oh, I know why you wore it,” he said, his voice dipping lower, teasing. “But I gotta ask—was it for the heat, or was it for me?”  

Nora’s breath hitched, heat rushing through her body at the way he was looking at her, like he was already undressing her with his eyes.  

His fingers found the straps at her shoulders, slipping one down, then the other, slow and deliberate, “Damn shame if this ended up on the shop floor,” he murmured, his lips hovering close to hers, his breath warm.  

Nora let out a shaky breath, her heart hammering against her ribs. But she wouldn’t let him get the upper hand so easily.  

“Good thing you’ve got a washer, then,” she whispered, watching his reaction.  

Chris froze. Just for a second. And then, a deep groan rumbled from his chest, his fingers tightening on her hips as his forehead dropped to hers.  

“Baby,” he said, his voice strained, like she was killing him. “You say stuff like that, and I will be takin’ this dress off you.”  

She smiled, her hands finding his bare chest, feeling the warmth of his skin, the coarse hair beneath her fingers. She traced her nails down his stomach, grinning when his abs flexed under her touch.  

Chris let out a sharp breath, grabbing her hand and pressing it flat against his chest, right over his hammering heartbeat, “You have to know what you do to me,” he muttered.  

Nora tilted her head, all wide eyes and feigned innocence, “What do I do?”  

Chris groaned, dragging his hands up her thighs, pushing her dress higher, “You drive me crazy, that’s what,” he said, his lips brushing against her ear. “And what’s worse—you know it.”  

Nora shivered at his tone, gripping his shoulders,  “Maybe.”  

Chris let out a husky laugh, shaking his head. “Damn menace,” he murmured before capturing her lips in a deep, slow kiss, his hands gripping her waist like he’d never let her go.

Chris let out a rough chuckle, shaking his head as he looked at her—really looked at her. Sitting on his workbench, legs parted just enough for him to stand between them, her sundress pushed high up her thighs, the straps barely hanging on. She looked like every dream he hadn’t let himself have when he first met her.  

“Y’know,” he said, dragging his hands slowly down her bare legs, his thumbs brushing her soft skin. “If you’d told me months ago that this is where we’d end up… you sittin’ on my workbench, barely dressed, lookin’ like a damn dream…I would’ve never believed it.”  

Nora tilted her head, that soft, teasing little smirk playing on her lips as she slid her hands over his chest, letting her nails scratch lightly through the dusting of hair there. “Hmm,” she hummed, biting back a grin. “That’s funny.”  

Chris raised a brow. “What is?”  

She leaned in, lips grazing his jaw before whispering, “Because I’d sit on your workbench not dressed at all if you asked me to.”  

Chris just about died. His grip on her tightened as he sucked in a sharp breath, his head dropping against her shoulder like she’d physically taken him out. “Jesus, baby,” he groaned, voice wrecked. “You cannot say stuff like that to me.”  

Nora giggled, running her fingers through his hair, tugging just a little, “Why not?” she asked innocently, though the glint in her eyes was anything but.  

Chris lifted his head, eyes dark, full of heat, full of something deeper, something wrecked just from her sitting there looking at him like she knew exactly what she was doing. “Because I’m this close to layin’ you back on this damn bench and reminding you that you’re all mine.”  

She kissed him before he could finish that thought, laughing against his mouth when he groaned and held her tighter, hands roaming, body pressing closer. And in that moment, he knew that little dress was going to be on his shop floor within the next minute.