Maybe I’m imagining all of it. Maybe she really doesn’t want more than friendship.
I move in front of her desk. One hand scratches at my beard, the other taps lightly on the wooden surface.
I helped her build this place. This desk, these shelves, every inch of this shop has a piece of me in it.
And over time, she gave me pieces of herself too, tiny glimpses. Never the painful parts. Never her fears. But I still saw them.
I saw the way her smile sometimes faltered at the edges. How she shrugged off compliments like she doesn’t know how toaccept them. How she never looked at herself in the mirror for too long, and when she did, she avoided her own eyes.
And tonight? Tonight, I’m taking the risk.
I round the desk. With every step, her breathing grows more shallow.
“Then tell me, baby girl...” My voice is low. “If you’re not afraid of me, why can I see your heart pounding in your neck? Why is your gorgeous, creamy skin flushed? And your pupils... they’re so damn wide, I can barely see the beautiful green underneath.”
I pause, watching her. Letting her feel the weight of it.
“Because if it’s not fear… could it be… ” I tap my finger thoughtfully against my lips. “Arousal?”
She gasps, but she doesn’t deny it. So I take my chance.
I lean in, caging her against the chair with one arm, the other hand rising to gently cup her cheek.
My forehead rests against hers, and I breathe her in, sweet vanilla with a hint of something floral, delicate and intoxicating. She’s trembling, but she doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t push me.
“Tell me to stop, Ava,” I whisper, my voice thick with emotion. I don’t want to. God, I don’t. But if she asks me to, I will. Even if it shatters me.
For a second, I think she will. I brace for the wordno, for the slightest push, for her to put space between us. But all she does is look at me, those gorgeous eyes wide, pleading.
Pleading for what, though? Permission? Comfort? Me? To stop?
I close my eyes for the briefest second. When I open them again, she gives the smallest nod. Barely there, but enough. It’severything.
I drop to my knees in front of her, my hands framing her face like she’s something fragile and precious, because sheis. And then I close the distance.
And when my lips finally brush hers, it’s not fireworks or chaos.
It’s quiet. Still. Peace.
Like the world holds its breath.
Her lips are soft, hesitant. She tastes like vanilla, coffee and nerves. Her hands stay in her lap, fists clenched like she doesn’t know what to do with them. Like she’s scared touching me might make this real.
But then, just as I start to pull away, she makes this sound. A tiny, broken sigh.
And she grabs the front of my shirt. Pulls me back in. And this time, it’s not hesitant. This time, she kisses me like she’s afraid it might be the only chance she gets.
Like she wants to memorize the shape of my mouth, the way I breathe her name between kisses.
Like she’s tired of pretending she doesn’t feel everything all at once.
I lose my hands in her hair. She rises from the chair like her body can’t stand being seated anymore,and she straddles me like being closer to me is the only thing keeping her sane.
We stay like that, tangled in each other, hearts racing.
Not just a kiss. A breaking point. A beginning.
When we finally pull apart, her forehead rests against mine. She pulls away.
