Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Damian

Tonight, I reserved one of the resort's restaurants exclusively for us—not because I feared prying eyes, but because I craved a moment free from interruptions. Through the wide glass windows, passersby might catch fleeting glimpses of Paul and me, sitting together in the intimate glow of the room. It feels significant, monumental even, because this is the first time he has accepted one of my countless invitations.

After my admission in front of the town, I’ve been hoping to . . . well I’m not sure what I hoped to receive from him. Maybe just an opening. Honestly, while talking to my therapist I realized I didn’t think the whole thing through. I was just desperate and in need for a change. It seemed like not only coming out to the town, but declaring my love in front of them was a good gesture. It wouldn’t fix our relationship, but it would show him I’m here for the long run.

So yes, maybe I hoped he would be more open to giving me a chance. He hasn’t dismissed me entirely; when I stop by the bakery with lunch or swing by his office with a snack, he allows it, even if begrudgingly. But whenever I’ve tried to invite him out, he’s met my offers with polite excuses, doors quietly closing before they could fully open.

Until tonight.

The moment he said yes, I poured myself into making this evening perfect, unforgettable. The restaurant glows with warmth and sophistication—golden lights hang from the ceiling like suspended stars, their gentle illumination casting a dreamlike sheen over the dark wood tables and pristine white linens. Candles flicker within delicate glass holders, their flames a quiet dance of hope. Vases overflowing with flowers in deep, rich hues of autumn lend a vibrancy to the room, a bold yet elegant splash of color. It’s all for him.

For Paul.

And hopefully soon I’ll be able to say, for my Paul .

My.

Paul.

As I linger near the entrance, my heart beats with an eagerness I haven't felt in years. Not even before when we were together, hiding from everyone. This, what I’m feeling is different and I like it. There’s something refreshing about going all the way out for someone to show them you care. The resort bustles with the energy of ski season, yet I willingly risk any inconvenience to its patrons for this chance—this one night to show Paul what he means to me.

The doors swing open, and my heart clenches, the sensation raw and consuming, like a tidal wave crashing over me. Paul steps inside, his presence understated yet magnetic. His eyes sweep the room with quiet deliberation, his gaze briefly lingering on the golden lights overhead and the flickering candles, before settling on me.

He’s wearing a simple sweater and dark jeans, but somehow, he manages to make it look effortlessly good. The soft glow of the lights catches in his hair, creating a halo-like effect that does nothing to temper the way my body reacts to him.

My cock twitches at the sight of him, unbidden and unapologetic. Damn it. Not now, I tell myself, reining in the pull of desire that stirs low and hot. But it’s impossible not to notice the way the sweater hugs his chest or how those jeans frame his legs. It takes every ounce of control not to let my thoughts drift further.

Because tonight isn’t about that.

Not yet.

He walks toward me, and I meet him halfway, each step laden with meaning. “Thank you for coming," I say, there’s a mix of relief and reverence in my voice.

The urge to reach for him—to pull him into a hug or brush my lips against his—flares within me, sharp and undeniable. But I reign it in. He’s here, and that’s enough. For now.

“This is fancy. Are you expecting more guests?” His tone carries a hint of skepticism as his gaze takes in the elaborate decor.

“No,” I reply, my voice steady but soft. “This is for you. Just you.”

I gesture toward the table, and we walk together. The moment we sit, it feels as though the rest of the world has melted away, leaving just the two of us surrounded by flickering light and a quiet, intimate elegance.

As we take our seats, the rest of the world fades. Tonight, it's just Paul and me.

A server approaches, their movements polished and professional. “Good evening. May I start you with some water while you look over the wine selection?”

I glance at Paul, who gives a small, almost imperceptible nod. There’s something in the way his gaze softens that fills me with a flicker of hope. “Yes, thank you. And bring the Chateau Margaux 2005,” I say to the server, my voice calm, though the anticipation simmering beneath it feels anything but.

The server nods, pouring water into the crystal glasses with practiced precision before slipping away to fetch the wine. The delicate clink of glass meeting wood is the only sound that lingers between us for a moment.

“Thank you again for coming,” I say, my words quieter now, infused with something heavier than gratitude.

Paul leans back in his chair, his lips quirking into a faint, teasing smile. “It was that or having you show up at the bakery during the holiday rush.” He pauses, letting his joke settle before adding, “You didn’t leave me much of a choice.”

His humor breaks the tension, but only for a beat. Then his smile falters, replaced by an expression I don’t see often—a rare vulnerability. “I’m kidding. I mean it. I just . . . I don’t know how to go from here, Damian. I can’t go back?—”

“No one’s asking you to go back anywhere.” My voice is steady, but there’s an urgency in it, a need to make him see. “I want us to move forward. To start something new. That’s all I’m asking for—a relationship that’s healthy, open. Not hiding, not apologizing for who we are.”

Paul’s gaze sharpens on me, his brow furrowing, but I press on.

“For years, I was afraid. Afraid no one would accept me, afraid of what I might lose. And I’ve been working through that—working on myself. I’ve had to confront the fact that I never let myself grieve my mother. Not really. I never allowed myself to miss her because I was too busy with everyone’s feelings and needs.”

Paul doesn’t interrupt, but his hand twitches like he wants to reach for me.

“My father and I, we’ve been doing therapy. Together,” I continue, my voice thickening slightly. “He now understands that unintentionally, he let the weight of his grief fall on me. He was too sad to realize I was still a kid, still figuring out how to carry my own pain. So instead of crying for her, I tried to fix everyone else’s hearts.”

I exhale slowly, the admission pulling something from deep inside me. “That’s what made me think I had to be perfect. That if I wasn’t perfect—if I wasn’t the one holding everything together—I was failing. And I thought perfect meant following the rules. Society’s rules. My family’s rules. All of it. The worst part is I fabricated all that in my head. Mom would’ve loved me no matter what, my family would’ve accepted me . . . I just created my own reality.”

Paul’s frown deepens, and he sighs before reaching across the table to take my hand in his. The warmth of his touch brands me, searing through the distance I’ve felt between us.

“You poor man,” he murmurs, his voice rough but tender.

“Excuse me?” I blink at him, unsure whether to laugh or bristle.

Paul holds my gaze as his thumb brushes over my knuckles. “I mean it. I never thought about it like that. When I came out—when the town knew—I was angry at you. So angry. I couldn’t understand how you could think these people would hate you when they’ve been so accepting of me. But I never stopped to think about what you’d been through. What you lost.”

He squeezes my hand gently, his eyes full of something I can’t name but feel all the same. “The child in you was just trying to survive. Afraid he wouldn’t be enough. Nothing and no one had ever loved you enough to make you think that the way you were doing things was wrong.”

I nod, the truth of his words settling somewhere deep inside me. “Yeah. I think . . . I think I held onto that fear because it was all I had left of my mom. If I could just be what I thought she’d want me to be, then maybe I wouldn’t lose her entirely. And I didn’t want to disappoint my dad, either. But . . . honestly, if I had allowed myself to grieve back then, maybe I would’ve left this place and lived my own life.”

Paul tilts his head, studying me. “Is that what you want now?”

I shake my head. “Not anymore. But I’ve warned him and my sister—if they don’t let me run this place the way I see fit, I’m selling my share. I’m done living for them.”

His brow lifts, curiosity mingling with concern. “Why?”

“Because it’s time, Paul.” My voice drops, the conviction in it stronger than it’s ever been. “It’s time to live for myself. To do things that actually bring me joy. For so long, I’ve been carrying everyone else’s expectations, their hopes, their grief. And since you came back, all I’ve been wishing for is more. A life that’s mine. A life with you, if you’ll have me.”

I look at him then, really look at him, and the hope in his eyes mirrors the hope I’m finally allowing myself to feel.

“Of course I’ll have you,” Paul says, his voice cutting through the haze of my uncertainty with a conviction that sears into my skin. “And we’ll buy everyone out of the resort. This is your place, Damian. You deserve to have it—to have the life you couldn’t before.”

His words hang in the air, heavy with the kind of tenderness that pierces deeper than any declaration. His gaze locks onto mine, unwavering and raw, and I feel the strength of his belief in me like a physical force.

“I wish . . .” His voice falters for a moment before he gathers himself again. “I wish we had been ready for this. For us. If I hadn’t been so new to all of it—this, my identity, what it means to share it—I could’ve confronted you sooner. I could’ve helped you instead of standing there while you pushed me away.”

“Please.” My voice breaks. “Don’t take this on yourself?—”

“I’m not.” His response is immediate. “I’m not taking any blame, Damian. I know this wasn’t mine to carry. I’m just saying . . . let’s do better. Together.”

He takes a step closer, his presence all-consuming. His hand lifts to brush against my cheek, his touch achingly gentle, yet charged with a kind of electricity that makes my breath hitch.

“Let’s promise each other,” he continues, his voice softer now, a whisper meant just for me. “From this point forward, we’ll communicate. We’ll be honest, even when it’s hard. We’ll take it slow, learn each other again—every inch, every thought, every secret. But we won’t lose this.”

I nod, the knot in my throat making words impossible. My hand comes up to cover his where it rests against my face, anchoring us in this moment. His eyes search mine, and there’s something unspoken in them, something I can feel as surely as the air between us.

And then he leans in.

The kiss starts as a question, tentative and tender, a quiet exploration of a connection neither of us can deny. But it doesn’t stay that way. It deepens with each passing second, like a spark catching fire, consuming every doubt, every hesitation. His lips move against mine with a desperation that echoes my own, a need that has been building for years, finally breaking free.

I slide my hands up his arms, over the firm lines of his shoulders, pulling him closer. He groans softly, the sound vibrating between us as his hand slides into my hair, tilting my head to deepen the kiss.

It’s not just a kiss—it’s a promise, a searing vow that binds us together in a way that words never could. It speaks of everything we’ve been through and our future. The future we want with one another. There’s hope, there’s love.

There’s us.

When we finally pull apart, our foreheads rest together, breaths mingling in the space between us. His thumb brushes against my cheek. “I love you, Damian Harris. And we’ll figure this out. Together.”

“I love you too, Paul.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, I believe that this is all going to be okay.