“Why not?”
Eliza shrugs. “Admitting I need help feels like admitting I’m broken.”
“Or it feels like admitting you’re human.” I bump her shoulder gently. “Tell you what… I’ll go to therapy if you do.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it? We could make it a competition. See who makes the most progress.”
Despite herself, Eliza smiles. “You want to turn mental health into a contest?”
“I want to turn it into something you can win. You’re competitive as hell, and if there’s a chance you can beat me at something, you’ll try.”
“You’re not wrong.” She considers this. “Instead of spending fifteen thousand on tree damage, we’ll spend it on therapy bills.”
“An excellent investment.”
“Definitely.” Eliza turns to face me more fully. “But I’m warning you now—I’m going to win this mental health challenge.”
“Bring it on, Storm.”
Her name fits her perfectly—unpredictable, powerful, impossible to ignore. And when she looks at me like she is now, with something soft and hopeful in her eyes, I feel like I’m standing in the eye of the hurricane.
“Reed?” she says quietly.
“Yeah?”
“I’m scared.”
“Of what?”
“Of how much I want this. Want you.” She takes a shaky breath. “Of how much it’s going to hurt when you figure out I’m not worth the trouble.”
“Eliza.” I cup her face in my hands. “You are worth every bit of trouble. You’re worth fighting for, worth waiting for, worth whatever chaos comes with loving you.”
“Loving me?”
The words slipped out, but I don’t take them back. “Yeah. Loving you. I’m setting that as a goal.”
Her eyes search my face like she’s looking for signs of deception. Whatever she sees must satisfy her, because she leans forward and kisses me.
It’s soft at first, tentative, like she’s not entirely sure this is real. But when I kiss her back, when I pull her closer and she makes this small sound of surprise and pleasure, everything changes.
This isn’t the almost-kiss from the kitchen or the cheek kiss outside Esther’s house. This is Eliza deciding to trust me, to stop running, to let herself want something good.
Her hands fist in my borrowed flannel shirt as she deepens the kiss, and I can taste the sweetness of the cookies we shared earlier. She’s warm and alive and here, and for the first time in weeks, I’m not worried about what comes next.
When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
“Wow,” Eliza says.
“Yeah. Wow.”
She grins that mischievous expression I’ve learned to love and fear in equal measure. “So… now what?”
“Now…” I trace my thumb along her cheekbone. “I’d really like to make you feel good.”
Her breath catches. “Reed…”
