A SECOND CHANCE AT FOREVER Chapter 22: CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

ASHLEY

I woke up to the faint scent of cedarwood and crisp linen, mingling with something uniquely masculine—warm, clean, and faintly spiced, like the lingering trace of an expensive cologne mixed with skin. It wrapped around me, sinking into my senses, grounding me even before my mind fully registered where I was.

And then there was the arm.

Heavy, muscled, and draped possessively over my waist, its weight both foreign and… comforting. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d woken up with a man in my bed. Sleepovers were never my thing, and I hadn’t hooked up with anyone since my divorce.

But this—this felt dangerously good.

The arm was strong, solid, like it could protect me from anything. My fingers instinctively brushed over the coarse hair dusting his forearm, the warmth of his skin seeping into mine. A soft sigh of contentment slipped past my lips before I could catch it, and without thinking, I snuggled closer to the heat radiating behind me, my eyes still closed.

I wasn’t ready to face reality just yet.

The arm tightened, pulling me flush against him. My breath hitched when I felt the hard, sculpted lines of his chest pressed against my back, the unmistakable firmness of his thighs tangled with mine. A drowsy, masculine rumble vibrated against my neck as he nuzzled closer, his breath hot against my skin, sending a shiver cascading down my spine.

My lips curved slightly, unbidden.

It felt good. Too good.

But then—

Wait.

Who was he?

My eyes flew open, and I blinked against the soft morning light filtering through the thin curtains. My heart hammered as I slowly turned my head, careful not to jostle him.

And there he was.

Kyle.

His face was relaxed in sleep, lashes casting faint shadows on his cheekbones, his stubble rough and deliciously dark against his jaw. His mouth—God, that mouth—was slightly parted, his breath warm against my neck.

Panic and… something else… surged through me.

How the hell did this happen?

I racked my brain, piecing together blurry fragments from yesterday. Vermont, skiing—migraine, Kyle’s voice cutting through the fog, his hands gentle on my forehead, his steady presence anchoring me. I must’ve fallen asleep. But he—

Why the hell was he in the bed?

Carefully, I tried to wiggle free.

Bad idea.

The movement stirred him, and his arm locked around me like a vice. A low groan rumbled from deep within his chest as he shifted, his face burying further into the crook of my neck, his lips grazing my skin.

I froze.

Heat bloomed in places I’d forgotten existed, my breath turning shallow.

No. Nope. This wasn’t happening.

“Kyle,” I whispered sharply, nudging his arm.

Nothing.

“Kyle,” I hissed again, trying to twist out of his hold.

This time, his grip loosened slightly, and his eyes fluttered open—dazed, heavy with sleep. For a moment, he just stared at me, his gaze dark and unreadable.

Then it hit him.

Recognition flickered across his face, followed by a relief that made my stomach dip in ways I didn’t approve of.

“Morning,” he rasped, his voice thick and gravelly, like it had been dragged over rough edges.

I gawked at him. “What the hell are you doing here

“Thought we agreed you’d take the floor.”

“You were in pain,” he murmured, his voice rough from sleep.

I clenched my jaw. . “You shouldn’t have—” The words slipped out, sharp and defensive.

But I stopped mid-sentence. Because shouldn’t have?

What kind of thing was that to say to someone who’d helped me through one of the worst migraines I’d had in months?

The silence stretched between us for a beat too long.

Kyle didn’t press. He just studied me with those eyes that used to see through every wall I built—eyes that still made me feel exposed in ways I hated.

His voice softened slightly. “How are you feeling now?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, shifting my gaze to the blanket tanThankfully, Violet’s voice cut through the tension.

“You guys up? Breakfast ends in half an hour.”

I snapped my gaze to the clock on the wall. Shit. We had slept in way later than I thought.

“Yeah,” I muttered. “We’ll be right out.”

Kyle didn’t say another word. He just left the room as I got ready, the space between us thick with unspoken things I wasn’t ready to deal with.

There was no way I was skiing today—not with my body still feeling like it had been run over by a migraine truck and definitely not with Kyle’s proximity messing with my head. Instead, I pulled on a pair of soft black leggings, an oversized cream sweater, and fuzzy socks that screamed comfort over style.

As Violet and I made our way to breakfast, she glanced at me, her brow slightly arched. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better,” I replied. Thanks to your fiancé’s best friend—my ex-husband. But I swallowed that part. “Thanks.”

She looped her arm through mine, her warmth comforting in a way that made me feel more grounded. “How do you feel about hitting the spa after breakfast instead of skiing? We still have that gift card we haven’t used.”

Oh, thank fucking God.

“Violet,” I sighed dramatically, pressing my hand to my chest like she’d just saved my life, “you’re the human version of caffeine and Wi-Fi. I needed that more than I need air right now.”

She burst out laughing, her arm giving mine a playful squeeze.

The rest of the morning passed in a blissful blur—aromatherapy massages, facials, and soaking in a hot tub with the faint scent of lavender swirling around us. It should’ve been relaxing. It was relaxing. But no matter how many knots the massage therapist worked out of my shoulders, she couldn’t touch the one lodged firmly in my chest.

By the time we met up with the guys for lunch, I was more irritable than refreshed. It didn’t help that my brain kept spiraling back to one person I had no business thinking about—Kyle.

Ryan rested his hand on the back of Violet’s chair, leaning down to press a kiss to her cheek. She smiled up at him, her face glowing with so much love it made my chest ache with something I refused to name.

“How was the spa?” Ryan asked, his voice warm and low.

“It was great,” she answered, her face glowing with happiness as she smiled up at him. How could she be so easy about it? “How was skiing?”

“Good,” Ryan replied, his voice distracted as he went back to admiring her.

We settled into silence as we flipped through our menus. Kyle sat next to me, his presence like gravity—impossible to ignore. Every time either of us shifted, our legs brushed under the table. A simple touch, accidental and fleeting, but each graze felt like a spark burning straight through me.

The server arrived, handing out the menus. She listed off the specials for the day, her voice a soft hum against the noise of the restaurant:

Roasted butternut squash soup

Truffle mac and cheese

Grilled salmon with lemon-dill sauce

Winter pear salad

Grilled chicken panini

But then, Kyle’s hand brushed mine. A fleeting touch, barely there, but enough to knock me off balance. My mind short-circuited, the moment stretching far longer than it should have.

“I’ll have the… grilled salmon,” I blurted out without thinking.

The words left my mouth before I even realized what I’d said. The problem? I hate salmon.

The server nodded and moved on, but I felt Kyle’s gaze on me.

“You don’t eat salmon,” he said, his voice calm.

I gritted my teeth. That’s right, he does know. But I wasn’t about to let him believe he still had a claim on knowing anything about me.

I snapped, unable to stop myself, “It’s been years, Kyle. You can’t expect to know what I like or don’t like anymore.”

The words were sharper than I intended, but the tension between us was suffocating. The moment hung heavy in the air.

That was it. Violet and Ryan, who had been quiet until now, exchanged a quick glance. They noticed, but didn’t comment. They just... ignored it.

Good.

I kept my eyes glued to the menu, my face burning. Perfect, I thought bitterly. Now I get to spend lunch with the one person I hate the most… and a plate of food I hate almost as much.

Could this day get any worse?