His jaw flexed like he didn’t love the idea of me being anywhere he couldn’t see. But he didn’t say anything. Didn’t try to talk me out of it. Didn’t hover.
Progress.
He reached over and squeezed my hand instead. “I’ll be here at five.”
I snorted softly. “You don’t need to wait outside all day.”
“I know,” he said. “I’m still picking you up.”
I leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not making this weird.”
He huffed. “I absolutely made this weird. I just did it quietly.”
That earned him a real laugh.
I grabbed my bag and opened the door, then paused. “Hey.”
He looked up.
“I’m really proud of you,” I said.
Something soft crossed his face. “I’m proud of you.”
That did something warm and dangerous to my chest.
I walked into the clinic without looking back. Not because I wasn’t tempted, but because I didn’t need to. I knew he’d still be there.
And he was.
At exactly five, his bike was pulled up across the street, his helmet under his arm, posture loose but alert like always. The second he saw me, his shoulders dropped.
“There he is,” he said.
“There I am,” I agreed, grinning.
He waited until I was close before asking, “How’d it go?”
I didn’t even hesitate. “I loved it.”
That smile he gave me then—slow, proud, a little wrecked—it felt like winning something I didn’t know I’d been playing for.
We grabbed dinner at a quiet place a few towns over. Nothing fancy. There was a booth by the window. Shared fries. Lock stole food off my plate and he was just Silas here with me.
“You look happy,” he said at one point, watching me over his glass.
“I am,” I said. “It feels… good. Having something that’s mine.”
He reached across the table, thumb brushing my knuckles. “You deserve that.”
It wasn’t like everything was magically perfect, we were still getting to know each other… figuring out how to be together and my worry that once it wasn’t this forbidden, heightened thing between us, we’d have nothing left… thankfully I was wrong.
The ride home was nice, the warm air and steady roads and his hand resting on my thigh at every stoplight like he needed a reminder that I was still there.
Back at the house, Lock kicked off his boots, hung his cut, and followed me into the bedroom without a word.
