Clinging desperately to the figure before me, it took a moment for reality to settle in. I had woken from the nightmare, and a thunderstorm was raging outside.
Howard was sitting beside me, his hand gently stroking my back like you’d comfort a frightened child. The clean, woodsy scent of cedar clung to him, fresh and calming, while the warmth of his touch sent my heart racing.
Since my parents passed away, no one had ever held me like this during a thunderstorm.
Even Lance—after five years of a secret relationship—never stayed overnight. He’d always leave after we were done, offering nothing but empty words over the phone: “Sienna, I’ll keep you company… from here.”
But now, at this moment, I found myself selfishly craving Howard’s warmth. His tenderness, so different from the cold, businesslike demeanor he showed others, felt like a fragile treasure.
As my thoughts cleared, I remembered how he had burst into my room at the first clap of thunder.
How did he know I was afraid of storms?
The longer we stayed like this, the more my mind turned to mush. Without thinking, I blurted out, “Howard, would you marry me?”