Chapter 9 The Weekend Escape

The drive upstate was quiet at first. Amara's fingers drummed against the edge of the passenger seat as the trees thickened along the two-lane road. Daniel sat beside her, his eyes focused on the winding path ahead, one hand loosely resting on the gear stick. The soft hum of a Miles Davis jazz track floated through the speakers-one of their old favorites from college.

She hadn't heard it in years.

Everything felt like a memory wrapped in something new. Familiar but dangerously uncharted.

"Still remember the way?" she asked lightly, trying to fill the silence.

He glanced over and smiled. "Took the wrong exit once. You yelled at me for twenty minutes."

She laughed despite herself. "You were being cocky."

"I was being confident."

"You were being cocky and you got us lost in Jersey."

Daniel chuckled. "Okay, true."

The tension eased a little. The road stretched on, curving into hills dotted with pines and red maples. By the time they pulled into the gravel driveway, the sun was dipping low behind the trees, casting a honey-gold glow over the rustic log cabin.

It looked exactly like the pictures they'd seen years ago when they first dreamed of escaping here after graduation. Back when love was easy and the future felt like a thing they could bend to their will.

Daniel carried the bags in. Amara lingered by the door, her arms wrapped around herself as she took in the small fireplace, the creaky wooden floors, the cozy couch covered in plaid throws. There was a bottle of red wine on the counter, uncorked already.

"You stocked the place?"

"I remembered you like Pinot Noir," he said simply.

She turned to him. "Why did you bring me here?"

Daniel looked at her for a long time. "Because this was the version of our life we never got. The cabin we never visited. The weekend we never had."

Amara felt her throat tighten.

Dinner was simple-grilled salmon and asparagus, roasted potatoes, wine. They talked softly over the fire, laughter threading in with the crackling of wood. For a moment, it felt like they were just two old lovers catching up.

But underneath it all was the unspoken weight of what they both knew was coming.

Later, Amara stood by the fireplace, staring into the flames. Her arms were wrapped in a chunky sweater, her bare legs warm from the heat.

Daniel approached her slowly, quietly, holding her gaze.

"I shouldn't have come," she whispered.

"Do you regret it?"

"No," she said too quickly.

He reached for her hand, slow and sure. "Then don't run from it."

Amara didn't pull away.

Daniel stepped closer. His hand cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb just below her eye. Her breath hitched.

"I still love you, Amara," he said softly. "Even when I tried to forget. Even when I hated you for leaving me. I never stopped."

Tears brimmed at the edges of her lashes. "You broke me."

"I broke myself."

He leaned in, and this time she didn't resist. Their lips met-not in a rush, but in a slow unraveling of every emotion left unsaid. His hands slid into her hair, and hers gripped his shirt like she needed something to keep her grounded.

He lifted her gently, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he carried her toward the bedroom, mouths never parting.

The room was lit by soft lamplight and shadows. He laid her on the bed like she was something precious-like the years hadn't hardened him, hadn't stolen the boy who once whispered poetry into her skin.

He kissed her neck, her collarbone, the curve of her shoulder. Every part of her was explored with reverence, as though he were memorizing her all over again. She gasped as his mouth trailed lower, his touch both familiar and achingly new.

She pulled his sweater over his head, fingers trembling. He kissed her again, deeper this time-hungry but still gentle, as if asking permission with every breath.

Clothes fell away slowly, discarded in a trail across the floor. They moved like people rediscovering a language they'd forgotten-every kiss, every touch an echo of something once lost and now dangerously close to being found.

When he finally entered her, it wasn't hurried or rough-it was like coming home. She gasped into his shoulder, her nails digging into his back, her hips rising to meet his in slow, aching rhythm.

"I missed you," she whispered.

He kissed her temple. "I know."

They moved together, skin against skin, heart against heart. The fire crackled in the other room, but here, everything burned hotter-sheets tangled, breathless moans caught between kisses. Years of pain melted away with every thrust, every shiver, every whisper of her name on his lips.

When release finally came, it wasn't just physical. It was emotional-like a dam breaking. Amara clung to him, tears slipping silently from the corners of her eyes as he held her close, his forehead resting against hers.

"I never stopped dreaming of this," he murmured.

Neither had she.

They fell asleep wrapped in each other, the silence between them no longer heavy-but sacred.

And somewhere in the middle of the night, when she woke and felt the steady beat of his heart beneath her hand, Amara knew the truth:

This was more than lust.

This was a love they never stopped keeping.