For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
The silence felt heavier than it had any right to, weighted with everything they hadn’t said.
He moved first, closing the distance between them. “Lauren,” he murmured.
Her name in his voice did something to her chest.
When he reached for her, she reached back. His hand came to rest at her waist, fingers tentative at first, then surer when she buried her face in his chest.
“You already built me a house,” she said quietly.
He nodded. “But you built me ahome.”
Her heart stuttered. She leaned back, looked up at him. And then he kissed her.
The taste of wine and salt and everything familiar.
The muscles under his shirt flexed as he drew her closer, and she rose onto her toes.
The first kiss was soft. The second wasn’t.
Heat unfurled through her chest, down her spine. Her pulse beat everywhere at once. She lost herself in his touch, losing track of the world for a long moment.
When she broke the kiss to breathe, she saw his expression—eyes dark, jaw tight, breath uneven.
He looked undone. Beautifully undone.
“Lauren,” he whispered, forehead resting against hers. “I?—”
She kissed him again, deeper this time, and she felt him smile against her mouth. He crowded her against the kitchen cabinets, the hard surface behind her, his hard body plastered against her front.
He pulled back just enough to search her face. “If I stay…”
For a heartbeat they just stood there, breathing the same air. Then he pressed one last kiss to her temple—gentle, reverent.
“I should go,” he said softly.
He stepped back, grabbed his coat, hesitated in the doorway.
“I haven’t earned it,” he said quietly, meeting her eyes. “I can tell you’re still not sure.”
Her throat tightened. “Tom?—”
He smiled—small, earnest, steady. “I’m going to do this right.”
The door clicked shut behind him, and the house fell quiet again.
Lauren pressed her fingers to her lips, the taste of him still there, her heart caught between ache and hope.
She didn’t move for a long time.
CHAPTER 64
Tom
The night airhit him like a sobering splash of water.
Tom stood for a moment on the front step, coat unbuttoned, pulse still racing. The porch light spilled across the drive, and behind him the house—herhouse—glowed warm through the kitchen window.
