“That’s crazy.”
“Is it?” I kissed her knuckles. “We’ve been living together for a month. It’s been the best month of my life. Why not keep going?”
“Because it’s fast and impulsive and we barely know each other—”
“I know you.” I said it firmly. “I know you stress-clean when you’re anxious. I know you can’t function before coffee. I know you bite your thumbnail when you’re thinking. I know you’re brilliant and kind and you stand up for what’s right even when it costs you everything.” I met her eyes. “I know I love you. The rest is just details.”
Hannah was crying again, but she was laughing too. “You’re insane.”
“I’m in love.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“Probably.” I wiped away more tears. “You don’t have to decide now. But I had to offer.”
“I think—” She took a shaky breath. “I think I want to try. I’m terrified, but I want to try.”
The relief that flooded through me was almost overwhelming. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Let’s try.” She kissed me, quick and certain. “Let’s be insane together.”
I pulled her closer, wrapping my arms around her, burying my face in her hair. She smelled like bar smoke and vanilla lip gloss.
I kissed her again, slower this time. Savoring it. Her hands slid up to frame my face, and when she deepened the kiss I felt it in my chest—not just desire, but something bigger. Recognition. Rightness. Home.
Hannah tugged on my shirt, pulling me closer, and I helped her shift to straddle my lap. The recipe binder slid to the side and she carefully moved it out of the way, and then her mouth was on mine again and I forgot about packing, about boxes, about everything except her body against mine.
I stood, pulling her up with me, her legs wrapping around my waist. She laughed—surprised and delighted—and I carried her the three steps to the bed, laying her down gently on top of the folded clothes I’d been meaning to pack.
“These are in the way,” she said, pushing a sweater aside.
“I don’t care.” I leaned over her, caging her in with my arms. “I’ll pack later.”
“Very un-Connor of you.”
“You make me un-Connor.” I kissed her jaw, her neck, the hollow of her throat. “You make me better.”
Her hands slid under my shirt, warm against my skin. “You make me brave.”
I pulled back to look at her. “You were already brave.”
“Maybe. But you make me want to try being brave again.” She tugged at my shirt. “Now shut up and kiss me.”
I obeyed.
This time was different. Not rushed or frantic like so many of our previous encounters. This was deliberate. Intentional.
Loving.
I took my time undressing her, kissing each new piece of exposed skin. Her collarbone. The curve of her ribs. The soft skin of her inner wrist. She watched me with dark eyes, her breath catching when I lingered somewhere that made her shiver.
“Connor,” she whispered. “I need—”
“I know.” I kissed her stomach, right above the waistband of her jeans. “I’ve got you.”
I unbuttoned her jeans slowly, sliding them down her legs along with her panties. She was already breathing hard, her hands fisting in the blankets.
When I pressed my mouth to her, she arched off the bed with a gasp. I took my time there too, feeling what made her moan, what made her grip my hair, what made her whisper my name like a prayer.
