I lean closer. “I do.”
Her cheeks flush violently. “Axel…”
“I’m not touching you. I’m not crossing any line. But I’m not going to pretend I don’t want to.”
Her pulse jumps against my palm. She tries to pull her hands away.
I tighten my grip—not hurting, just holding. “Savannah.”
Slowly, achingly, she looks up.
“You’re allowed to want things too,” I tell her quietly.
Her breath hitches.
“Say it,” I murmur.
“Say what?” Her voice breaks.
“That you want this.”
She swallows—and I can see the truth burning behind her ribs, even if she’s too scared to let it out.
She shakes her head, but the denial is too slow, too weak. “I can’t.”
“You can’t because it’s not true?” I ask softly. “Or because it is?”
Her eyes glisten. She looks like a woman standing on the edge of a cliff, terrified of falling, terrified of jumping, terrified of staying still.
She whispers, “Because it is.”
My breath leaves me like a punch.
But I don’t kiss her.
I don’t move.
I don’t even exhale.
Instead, I just squeeze her hands gently, letting her feel me all the way to her bones. “Then we’ll go slow. We’ll build this the way we’re building your home.”
Her breath shivers. “How’s that?”
“Carefully,” I say. “Brick by brick. Only what you’re ready for.”
She wipes at a tear with the back of her glove. “I don’t deserve someone this patient.”
“You deserve someone who sees you,” I say. “I always have.”
She trembles. “I’m scared.”
“I know.” I reach up slowly—slow enough to give her a chance to pull away—and brush my knuckles along her cheek. “I’ve got you.”
Tears slip down her lashes, but she smiles through them. “Okay.”
Just that.
Okay.
