“That specific enough for you?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I whispered.
“Cool.” He sat back and went right for his fork again, unfazed by the chaos he’d just caused. “Eat. We still got dessert upstairs, and I’m not speeding through anything.”
I picked up my fork with shaking hands, trying to remember how to eat like a normal person.
“What if this is a fling?” I asked quietly. “A moment. Lust dressed up as falling in love. I’m confident, but I’m also just Halo… goofy, healing, sometimes aggressive Halo.”
“One,” he said, not even looking up, “a nigga is lusting, absolutely. You fine a shit. I’m human.”
“But I want more than that. Lust can imitate love, but it can’t sustain it. I move with intention, not impulse. Lust consumes. Love covers. Your light is safe with me.”
It hit me harder than I expected, because men talked all the time but rarely said anything worth listening to. I’d never been a words girl. Words were air. Actions were earth. Solid. Prove-it-to-me type energy.
“You can say anything,” I told him. “Words ain’t never been enough for me.”
“And they shouldn’t be,” he said, setting his fork down like we were switching gears. “That’s why I’m showing you. Look, if I didn’t pursue this, I’d be one dumb ass nigga. I’d regret it for the rest of my life, and I’m not built to live with that kind of regret.”
He shook his head. “So no. I’m not letting it slide. I need that heart on lock, and I need the key. And baby, fire is normally aggressive. I’m not afraid of that.”
He took a slow sip of his drink, never taking his eyes off me, ensuring I didn’t run from the weight of what he was saying.
“Did you know,” he asked, speaking barely above a whisper, “some trees only open their seeds after a fire?”
I blinked. “What?”
“It’s true,” he said. “They won’t grow unless they’ve been through heat first. Real heat. Fire doesn’t just destroy. It clears space. Makes room. Forces new shit to grow the way it’s supposed to. Keeps the wrong stuff from taking over.”
He shrugged. Why did he even know that?
“So yeah,” he continued, “you can call it a fling or lust or whatever word makes you feel safer in the moment… but I’m not worried. I know what fire can do when it’s controlled instead of running wild.”
“Are you calling me a wildfire?”
His smile came. “Nah,” he said. “I’m calling you necessary.”
I stared at him, searching for any sign that he was playing me, that this was some elaborate game. But all I saw was honesty. Intention. A man who knew what he wanted and wasn’t afraid to say it.
We talked while we finished dinner—about his childhood in Louisville, about Stetson, about Omni. About my mom, about moving to Silverrun, about the station. The conversation flowed easily now, natural. With us removing the barriers and being clear, we’d given a little color to the grey area.
That current. That pull was there and only strengthening. Every time he laughed. Every time I caught him looking at my mouth. Every time his hand found some excuse to touch me—my wrist, my shoulder, my knee under the table.
By the time we finished eating, I was so relaxed from the wine and delicious ass food that we tore up that I was skirting close to making bad decisions if they presented themself. I didn’t know it was possible to have the itis while also being sexually charged.
“You ready for dessert?” he asked, standing.
“What kind of dessert?”
“Chocolate lava cake and cheesecake. But I want to take you upstairs. Show you something.”
“It’s January. Won’t we freeze?”
“Trust me.” He held out his hand. “I got you.”
I placed my hand in his and let him pull me to my feet. He didn’t let go, just laced his fingers through mine and led me through the restaurant, past the kitchen, to a staircase I hadn’t noticed before.
“Where are we going?”
