The rain drummed harder against the windows after Marco left. Elena stood by the door for a long time, listening, watching the way the night swallowed the little road that led into town.
She should have locked the door immediately. She should have pulled the curtains tight and double-checked the windows.
Instead, she touched her lips, remembering the way Marco kissed her—slow, careful, like he didn't want to break her or himself.
The fear from earlier still prickled at the back of her mind, but stronger than that... was the ache.
The need for something real. Someone real.
She turned off the porch light, locked the door, and climbed into bed still fully dressed, the taste of wine and longing heavy on her tongue.
The next morning, Elena woke to sunlight pouring across the wooden floor. The rain had washed everything clean. The garden outside smelled greener, fresher. Birds darted between the wild herbs and roses.
But it wasn't peace she felt. It was something else. Like a clock ticking down.
She made coffee, sitting by the window in silence, turning Marco's words over and over in her mind.
"You're honest in ways I'm not used to… It gets under my skin."
He had touched her like he meant it. Like he needed it just as badly.
And then—whoever that was, outside.
It wasn't her imagination. Someone had been there.
Her fingers curled tighter around the coffee mug.
A knock at the door startled her.
She froze.
Then, carefully, she stepped to the door and looked through the peephole.
It was Marco.
Elena let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and opened the door.
He stood there, damp from the morning air, a brown paper bag in one hand, dark eyes searching hers.
"Didn't want you having breakfast alone," he said simply.
For a second, neither of them moved.
Then she stepped aside to let him in.
They sat at the kitchen counter, eating warm pastries Marco had brought from a little bakery downtown. There wasn't much talking—just the occasional glance, the brush of hands when reaching for the butter.
The tension was still there. Unspoken. Alive.
When she licked a bit of jam from her thumb, she caught him staring.
Marco cleared his throat, looking away. His ears turned slightly red.
Elena smiled faintly, a spark flaring in her chest.
Maybe he wasn't as in control as he looked.
Good.
She leaned her elbows on the counter, studying him openly now.
"You stayed up all night thinking about it, didn't you?" she teased.
He raised an eyebrow. "About the creep watching your house?"
"That's not what I meant."
His mouth twisted, fighting a smile. "You're trouble."
"And you like it."
Marco set down his coffee, pushing his chair back. His boots thudded softly against the wooden floor as he rounded the counter.
Elena watched him come closer, heart beating faster with every step.
He stopped right in front of her. Not touching. Just standing close enough that she could feel the heat from his body.
"I'm trying to be good," he said, voice low.
She tilted her head up to him, her hair brushing her bare shoulders. "Why?"
Marco let out a rough, shaky breath. His hand reached out and skimmed her waist—just his fingertips, tracing the line where her loose T-shirt met the top of her jeans.
It wasn't a grab. It wasn't bold.
It was a question.
One she answered by shifting closer, closing the tiny space left between them.
His hands settled on her hips then, pulling her against him in one slow, careful movement.
The way he touched her made her knees weaken—not rushed, not greedy. Like he was learning her, piece by piece, memorizing how she fit into his arms.
Elena slid her hands up his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heart under her palms.
"Marco," she whispered.
He kissed her then—not hard, not demanding. It was a kiss full of restraint, of desperate, careful need. His mouth moved over hers slowly, coaxing, savoring.
The world outside the little cottage disappeared.
All that existed was the soft sound of their breathing, the scratch of fabric against fabric, the heat building between them.
Marco's hand cupped the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair. She leaned into him, letting herself fall into the kiss, into him, into everything she had been holding back.
And still, they didn't rush.
His hands slid under the hem of her shirt, finding the warm skin of her waist. Elena gasped softly against his mouth, her fingers tightening in his shirt.
Marco pulled back just a little, resting his forehead against hers.
"We have time," he said, voice rough.
Elena nodded, her hands stroking his jawline. "We do."
For a long moment, they stayed like that. Breathing together. Letting the storm inside them build without giving in to it fully.
The knock came again.
Harder this time.
They both jerked toward the door.
Marco pulled back immediately, stepping in front of her instinctively.
Elena's heart hammered against her ribs.
Someone was out there.
And they weren't patient anymore.