“It’s just a ring,” I whisper.
His eyes lift to mine, that deep blue-green like a storm trying to be gentle.
“No, it’s not,” he says quietly. “It’s a thousand promises. A thousand lies he should’ve never been allowed to tell.”
When he lifts my hand and presses his lips to the metal, heat blooms across my chest. Not desire. Not yet.
Something older. Softer. Like someone remembering how to breathe for the first time.
My throat tightens. “Sometimes, it just… ends this way.”
Before either of us can fall all the way into that moment, the waitress sets down breakfast. Plates. Cutlery. A fracture in the intensity that lets us exhale.
Dane reaches for his black coffee.
“No sugar?” I tease.
He grins. “Already sweet enough, Peach.”
I choke on a laugh. “Is that right?”
Then he leans across the table, slow as a sunrise, and presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth — soft, fleeting, stealing the foam off my latte.
“And sweeter,” he murmurs, “when you’re around.”
My pulse stutters. His knee bumps mine under the table.
“You know,” he adds, “I could get used to this.”
“What? Breakfast?”
“No.” His gaze pins me gently. “You. Me. Existing in the same place… without the world swallowing you whole.”
My chest constricts. Words spill out without permission. “He left me in a burning house,” I say, voice barely stable. “And watched me choke.”
Dane puts down his cutlery, the teasing gone, replaced with something reverent.
“You can talk about him,” he says softly. “You can bleed here. I’m not afraid of your ghosts.”
His gaze deepens, turns molten. “Just… don’t run from me while you do it.”
Emotion crushes me then — raw, overwhelming, terrifying.
I lean across the table. I kiss him.
Not hungry.
Not claiming.
But grateful.
Something holy in the simplest form.
He inhales sharply against my mouth, fingers tightening around mine.
When he pulls back, his lips brush my cheek.
“Not yet,” he whispers. “You’re not free enough to choose me. Not fully. But when you are… Penn, when you finally come to me, I will never let you wonder if you’re loved.”
