Sean is quiet for a long moment. Then he speaks. “No,” he says flatly, and my heart drops. “It’s not a story you need to hear.” A beat passes. “And not one that I really want to talk about.”
My heart clenches. I feel tears prick at my eyes, but I nod, looking down at my plate. I can’t push him. There’s a fragility to how things are between us right now, and I know it could quickly go back to the way it all was before.
We haven’t been together all that long, I remind myself. He needs time. Patience. Tonight was already more than I’ve ever gotten from him before. I heard himlaugh, for goodness’ sake.
When we’re done eating, our wine finished, I join him at the sink, and we wash dishes together. His shoulder brushes mine, and I'm hyperaware of every point of contact. The kitchen is small, forcing us close together, and the tension from earlier is back, despite his refusal to talk. It seems like every time we’re close together now, that tension grows faster, my awareness of him more intense.
I'm drying a plate when I feel him go still beside me. I glance up and find him staring at me with an intensity that steals my breath.
"Maeve." My name sounds like a warning on his tongue.
My throat tightens. "What?" I whisper, the word suddenly choked. I can feel how tense he is next to me.
"You should go to bed."
"Why?"
Sean’s jaw ticks. "Because if you don't, I'm going to kiss you again."
My heart stutters. I don’t know what to say, what to do… but I don’t move. I don’t think I want to. I stand there frozen, and a moment later, Sean steps closer.
He takes the plate from my hands and sets it aside, his movements deliberate. Then he turns to face me fully, backing me against the counter. His hand comes up to cup my face, his thumb tracing my cheekbone. "I'm trying to do the right thing here."
“Maybe this is the right thing,” I whisper. The words come out before I can stop them.
His jaw clenches. "Maeve?—"
He leans in, and I think he's going to kiss me, but instead his forehead rests against mine. We're breathing the same air, and the moment stretches between us, taut and fragile.
"You're going to be the death of me," he murmurs.
"Sean—"
The door opens.
We spring apart as Flynn's voice carries through the apartment. "Knock knock! Hope everyone's decent!"
Sean's expression is thunderous as he steps back, putting distance between us. I'm shaking, my whole body wound tight with frustrated desire.
Flynn appears in the kitchen doorway and stops, looking between us with raised eyebrows. "Did I interrupt something?"
"No," Sean says shortly.
"Yes," I say at the same time.
Flynn grins. "Well, this is awkward. I just came by to check in and let you know that I’ve got someone coming to trade off with me tonight to keep watch, but I can come back?—"
"Stay," Sean says, his voice hard. He glances at me once, something complicated in his expression, then turns to Flynn. "We need to talk about security anyway."
He walks out of the kitchen, and I'm left standing there, burning with want and confusion and frustration.
Flynn gives me a sympathetic look. "Sorry, Maeve. I have terrible timing."
"It's fine." It's not fine. Nothing is fine.
"For what it's worth," Flynn says quietly, "he's fighting a losing battle. And I think he knows it."
I don't trust myself to speak, so I just nod.
