Erin made it. Barely. Calving season was finally behind her—two relentless weeks of emergency calls, split shifts, shoulder strain, and the kind of bone-deep fatigue that turned coffee into a lifeline. Her boots were crusted with substances she preferred not to identify, her hands still smelled faintly of antiseptic, and her entire body ached in places she hadn’t even known had nerve endings.

But she’d survived.

And tonight, she had a date.

A real one. With wine. With eye contact. With maybe—just maybe—a dessert that hadn’t been stored in her glove compartment since January.

Adrian had been a damn miracle. Through every cancelled dinner, every late-night text, every frantic call during a cuddle, he’d shown up. Like clockwork. Coffee in one hand, protein bars in the other, patience in every quiet glance.

He didn’t complain. Not once.

She wasn’t used to that.

To being looked after.

It was starting to undo her. Not in the dangerous, dramatic way she’d always feared, but in the kind of way that crept under her skin like spring thaw—slow, soft, impossible to ignore.

Not that she’d ever tell him that.

Erin grinned as she stepped inside her house, peeling off layers, unwrapping herself from the week—jacket, sweater, jeans, bra—all left behind in a gleeful trail across the floor. She made it to the bathroom, barely, and stepped into a scalding shower, letting the hot water hammer into her sore shoulders until her knees started to go a little wobbly.

Wrapped in a towel and steam-drowsy, she padded back to the bedroom to dry her hair.

That was the mistake.

The bed was warm. Her limbs were lead. She told herself she’d just lean back for a moment, just rest her eyes for a second—

When she opened them again, the room was dark.

And someone was breathing behind her.

She was cocooned under her comforter, one strong arm draped securely around her waist. Her hair was still damp. Her towel had been replaced with a soft T-shirt. Her phone glowed faintly on the nightstand.

2:07 a.m.

Erin blinked. Adjusted slightly.

Adrian stirred behind her but didn’t wake fully. Instead, he pulled her closer, like some part of him already knew she’d try to slip away and wasn’t having it.

She stared at the ceiling, her throat tight, heart too full to hold.

He had come over. Found her asleep. Undressed her towel-damp self, dried her off, pulled her into bed—just to be there. Just to make sure she was warm. Safe. Not alone.

Something opened in her chest. Quietly. Completely.

“Hey,” she whispered.

He mumbled something sleep-thick against her shoulder, then pressed a kiss to the back of her neck.

“I missed our date,” she murmured, twisting just enough to glimpse his sleepy face.

He opened one eye and smiled, lazy and sweet.

“Best date I never had.”

She snorted. “You didn’t even get to see me in real clothes.”

“You smell like ginger shampoo and exhaustion,” he said, brushing his thumb along her hip. “I’ll take it.”

Her eyes burned.

“You changed my shirt.”

“You were cold.” A pause. “And got to see you naked.”

“Don’t get cocky,” she muttered, even as she tucked herself closer.

“Too late.”

◆◆◆

Adrian had never known a more anxious two weeks in his life.

And that included corporate takeovers, impossibly scheduled breeding windows at the estate, and that one surreal board meeting in Prague when a million-dollar vote hinged on a single espresso order.

This was worse.

This was waking up every day hoping for a single text back. This was hearing about 2 a.m. emergency calls and wondering if her shoulder would finally give out. This was watching Erin—his Erin—be slowly hollowed out by responsibility.

She didn’t complain. She just kept going. Call after call. Always showing up for someone, somewhere, somehow.

It was like watching a hero disappear in real time.

Her cheekbones sharpened. The shadows under her eyes deepened. Her jokes turned into tired half-smiles.

When he saw her, it was in quick bursts—ten stolen minutes at most. Enough to refill her travel mug, slip a protein bar into her hand, and whisper something useless like “Remember to breathe.”

And she’d smile at him—worn thin, grateful, determined—and kiss his jaw like he was her favourite habit.

Adrian missed her. Fiercely.

But more than that, he admired her.

Erin Kelly could joke with a busted shoulder and blood on her boots. She could cradle newborn calves and wrestle a prolapsed uterus into submission. She was stubborn and sharp and, somehow, she’d started letting him in.

So when she finally texted on Friday, “Let’s go on that date,” he nearly launched his phone into the stratosphere from sheer joy.

He’d wanted to go big. Flowers, jewellery, Toronto skyline. A prix fixe menu with too many syllables.

But that wasn’t Erin.

Erin was not fancy. Erin was Luigi’s in Ashby Lake. She was gnocchi and sarcasm and slow eye-rolls over cheap wine.

So he packed her favourite tea bags in his coat (just in case), asked the local market lady for a boutonnière that wouldn’t get him mocked (“No flowers. She’s a vet. She’ll roll her eyes into another dimension”), and let himself into her house right on time.

And stopped cold.

The lights were low. Her jacket lay by the door. A trail of clothes—jeans, T-shirt, bra—led to the bathroom.

“Erin?” he called softly.

No answer.

He followed the clues to the bedroom, heart hitching with equal parts worry and affection.

There she was.

Fast asleep. Hair damp. Face mashed into her pillow. Wrapped in nothing but a towel.

Adrian froze.

Then he smiled. Not the grin of a man presented with a half-naked woman—but something slower. Sadder. Sweeter.

She trusted him. Even now. Even asleep.

Quietly, reverently, he pulled out one of her worn T-shirts—the one with the cartoon cow that said Moody Heifer—and knelt beside her. He dried her hair as best he could. Changed her clothes with hands that never lingered.

Tucked her in like something precious.

And then, because he couldn’t not, he undressed quietly, slid into bed, and wrapped his arm around her waist.

She melted into him in her sleep.

He rested his forehead against her shoulder and whispered, “It’s okay. You made it. I’ve got you now.”