All Chapters of Reclaiming Aria : Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

The morning light pushed through the curtains in a pale wash, golden where it touched the floorboards. Rain still tapped at the windows, softer now, but steady. The road out was still under water, and so they stayed—packing, quietly moving around each other like gravity had shifted. Kade’s fingers brushed against the handle of the coffee mug she’d used every morning. The one she’d clutched with both hands like it anchored her. He stared at it for a second too long before wrapping it in a dish towel and tucking it into the box. He could still feel her—her breath on his neck that second night when she’d come up behind him near the fire, asking about one of his mom’s old books. Her fingers brushing his arm. That look in her eyes before she didn’t look away. And later—fuck—her body pressed against him, her leg slung over his, her breath hot against his collarbone in the dark. They hadn’t crossed every line, but God, they’d danced the fuck on it. Her soft moan still rang in his ears

The movie flickered on the screen, the low hum of the old VHS tape adding an almost vintage intimacy to the moment. The room was dim, save for the firelight dancing across the walls and the soft glow of the TV. Aria was curled against Kade, her legs still draped over his lap, the popcorn bowl now mostly forgotten on the floor. She shifted slightly, adjusting the fuzzy socks he’d bought her, and when her toes brushed against his side, Kade sucked in a breath. She noticed. Her gaze lifted to meet his—and something shifted. The air between them, once easy and laced with childhood memories, now buzzed with adult heat. Neither said anything, but it was like they’d both stepped over an invisible line without even realizing it. Then, without warning, Aria leaned in. It started soft. A brush of her lips against his, like a test. Kade didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. But the moment her mouth lingered, tasting the faint salt of his skin and the heat of the fire still clinging to his hood

She stayed there, spine stiff, heart thudding like it was trying to escape her ribs. Kade hadn’t said anything. Maybe he didn’t know she was up yet. Or maybe he did—and was giving her space. Like he always did. Like he knew she was one step from coming apart. That man… he didn’t just take up space in a room. He claimed it. Quiet, solid, grounded like the earth itself, and yet still made her feel like gravity shifted every time he looked her way. Another soft creak. A door opening. The whisper of fabric being pulled over skin. She pictured it without meaning to—him, bare-chested, sleepy-eyed, dragging that white T-shirt over his head. The same one he always wore to bed. Her thighs clenched involuntarily, her breath hitching as her traitorous imagination filled in every damn detail. His hair—wild from sleep. That thin line of dark hair trailing down his stomach. Those strong hands pushing through it, rubbing the back of his neck as he yawned. God. Her whole body burned. She

The cabin creaked under the weight of the storm, wind howling like a beast outside. Rain lashed against the windows in hard sheets, thunder rumbling low and long. Kade stood by the window, hands on his hips, eyes narrowed like he could glare the power back on. His hair was a mess from her fingers, hoodie wrinkled, and his sweats rode low on his hips—still tenting slightly from where they’d been grinding just moments ago. “I’m gonna check the damn breaker,” he muttered, voice gravel-coated and clearly still wrecked from what they almost did. Aria blinked at him from the couch, still curled up in the blanket, cheeks flushed and mouth twitching. “Oh yeah? What, you gonna wrestle the storm like a lumberjack or some sh*t?” He glanced over his shoulder, arching a brow. “I can handle it.” She scoffed, tossing a pillow at him. “Kade, don’t be a f*ckin’ dunce. It’s a monsoon out there. I don’t care how broody and broad you are—lightning doesn’t give a damn.” He caught the pillow mi

The porch light flickered as the rain misted down, turning the steps into streaked ribbons of silver. Aria stood there a second too long—keys clenched, duffel over her shoulder, the familiar creak of the screen door echoing in her bones. Harold opened it first. He didn’t say a word, just stepped back and nodded her in. His presence steady, silent like the roots of a tree. His eyes flicked up to hers—red-rimmed but soft—and her chest splintered. Marlene came next. Awkward. Overcompensating. Arms flung too wide for a hug that landed off-center. “You didn’t bring more bags?” Aria shook her head. “Didn’t have much.” Her mother nodded, tucking a stray curl behind Aria’s ear like it still belonged to a six-year-old, and not this woman with a heart full of burned bridges. The house smelled like lemon wood polish and old Sunday dinners. Her room was barely touched—dusty, stripped of childhood softness, but the same faint pink tint remained on the walls. She dumped her duffel on