“Hey.”
It’s soft. Measured. But not cold.
“Hey,” I say back, and shut the door behind me.
A long moment passes.
“I wasn’t sure if I’d hear from you,” he says.
“I wasn’t sure I’d text,” I admit.
He nods. Sets the sandpaper down.
“I don’t know what that was last night,” I say. “But it didn’t feel like nothing.”
He looks at me for a second, like he’s working through how honest he’s ready to be. Then he says, “It wasn’t.”
Another silence.
Not awkward. Not easy either. Just full.
“I don’t . . . do this,” I say. “Not like this. Not with someone who could matter.”
“I don’t know what that means, Roe. Is that supposed to scare me off?”
“No,” I say. “I’m just trying to be honest here, Thatcher. I don’t know what the hell this is, but I want you, and not for some friends with benefits type thing or some one-off.”
He smiles. It’s faint. Wry.
I step closer.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. Just watches me.
“I don’t do this either. I date . . .” He pauses. “But that’s it.” His eyes are wide and honest. “It’s never intimate. Never goes beyond a meal in public, if I’m being honest.”
I step closer. “You want intimate, Thatch?” I tease, and his eyes darken in response. “I’ve had a lot of temporary in my life. I don’t want to start something that’s gonna break us both open. And I don’t think I can do something casual, with you. I’m not sure I’m built for casual anymore. Not after this last year.”
Well, I said I was going to try to be honest. Guess that just about does it.
He swallows. Looks down for a second, then back up.
“I don’t know what this is, or where it’s going,” he says. “I can’t make promises, Rory.”
It’s enough.
“I can’t either.”
I step in close, and this time, when I kiss him, it’s slow. Intentional. No one watching even if they want to. No chance of being seen.
Just us.
His hands find my sides, careful but sure, and I let mine press against the back of his neck. He exhales into it, like he’s been holding his breath for weeks.
When we pull apart, neither of us moves away.
I feel his fingers curl, bunching my shirt as he pulls me closer. This time Thatcher’s mouth finds mine, and I whimper into the heated kiss.
The scrape of his beard against my lips ignites something and the kiss turns hungry. But he isn’t quite hungry enough yet. I need all the restrained desire in his kiss to find another outlet. All over me.
