The silence wasn’t empty. It was charged full of the things we weren’t saying, the things we were terrified to say, the things aching out of us in the tiny spaces between breaths.
Peter pulled away smoothly, and the world outside blurred into sunlight and motion.
Dane’s thigh brushed mine.
Just once.
And the breath punched from my lungs.
When I looked up, he was already watching me.
Soft.
Hesitant.
Like I was something rare he was scared to break by looking too directly.
His fingertips grazed the back of my hand feather-light, the barest whisper. I turned my palm instinctively, letting my fingers find his.
Not grabbing.
Not clinging.
Just… touching.
Testing.
Every nerve ending in my body lit up like sparks flickering under my skin.
Something shifted between us. Something old. Something that had been hiding, waiting, breathing in the dark.
We didn’t talk about last night. We didn’t talk about Blake.
Not yet. Today was bright. Too bright for shadows. Too bright for pain.
So, when Peter parked near the little antique bookshop the one with the leaning shelves and windows tattooed with fingerprints I stepped out and let Dane follow me into the warmth.
The bell above the door chimed, and the smell hit me first leather, dust, old paper, forgotten secrets. My lungs expanded as if I’d been underwater for months.
I touched a row of worn spines gently with my fingertips.
Dane watched me with this small, secret smile like he’d been waiting to witness this exact moment.
“Everything okay?” he asked softly.
I nodded, letting my fingers trail along aged leather, feeling the grooves, the cracks, the history in every line.
“This place feels… like a heartbeat,” I murmured.
He stepped closer, slow enough that I could stop him if I needed to. I didn’t.
His shoulder brushed mine. I felt it all the way down to my ankles.
“You look like you belong in places like this,” he said quietly. “Like stories recognise you.”
Heat crawled up my throat.
My phone vibrated.
