So I wait a beat, then slide my chair closer until my knee brushes hers. “Penny for your thoughts?”
She doesn’t answer right away. Her fingers tighten just slightly around the cup. When she finally speaks, it’s so quiet I almost miss it.
“I feel selfish.”
That word sits heavy between us. I tilt my head. “Selfish?” I echo.
She nods but doesn’t look at me. “Last night… you gave me so much. You made me feel incredible. And I—” She breaks off with a frustrated little sigh. “I didn’t give anything back.”
Ah. Now it makes sense.
I reach over, gently take her cup from her hands and set it aside, then take both her hands in mine. “Ava.”
She finally looks up, and the guilt in her eyes punches me straight in the chest.
“I didn’t do anything last night expecting something in return,” I say, firm but soft. “You needed to feel safe. Loved. Seen. That’s all I wanted.”
She blinks rapidly. “But it wasn’t fair.”
“Says who?” I brush my thumb across her knuckles. “There’s no scoreboard here. No keeping tally of who touched who more or who said the right things.”
Her eyes start to glisten, and I know she’s fighting it, so I lean in, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
“You’ve spent so much of your life giving yourself to people who didn’t deserve you,” I murmur into her skin. “Let me love you without conditions. Let me show you how it’s supposed to feel.”
A single tear slips free, and she shakes her head, whispering, “I don’t deserve you.”
I pull back just enough to look her in the eye. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare. You deserve everything, Ava. Especially a man who sees your worth even when you forget it.”
She doesn’t speak again—just launches herself into my arms, burying her face in my neck. I hold her close, grounding her with the steadiness she’s still learning to trust. And in the quiet that follows, I don’t feel lacking.
I feel full. Because this? Holding her while she unravels, staying with her while she pieces herself back together—that’s the most intimate thing we could share. And I’m not going anywhere.
***
She’s asleep on the couch now, curled under the throw blanket with a paperback still clutched in one hand. She didn’t even get through five pages before her head tipped onto my shoulder and her breathing slowed.
I should move. Should shift her gently so she doesn’t get a crick in her neck.
But I don’t. Because moments like this are rare, still new, still precious. So I stay still, letting my hand rest lightly over herswhere the book is slipping, and watch the way her lashes rest on her cheeks.
She’s beautiful like this. Soft in ways she rarely lets herself be. It’s like watching the sea go still after a storm.
My fingers drift to her temple, brushing a few loose strands of hair back behind her ear. She stirs but doesn’t wake—just shifts closer, like even in sleep, she’s starting to trust me. That thought wrecks me in the best possible way. So I sit there, still and quiet, guarding her peace like it’s the most sacred thing I’ve ever been given.
Chapter ten
Ava
“Okay.”Miadropsherbag on the counter and points a finger at me, suspiciously gleeful. “You’re smiling. Not the polite bookstore-owner smile. The I-got-someone’s-hands-on-my-body smile.”
I nearly choke on my tea. “Mia!”
“What? It’s true!” she says, turning to Laura for backup. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
Laura raises a brow, smirking. “She’s not wrong. You’ve got that freshly-devoured glow.”
“Oh my god.” I bury my face in my hands. “Can’t a girl just have a good hair day?”
