Because I know what this is. A borrowed moment. A bubble of light before it pops.
Lucy Calder isn’t mine to keep.
She isn’t meant to stay.
Her ankle is healing. Her strength is returning. She’s almost ready to go back to the life I borrowed her from.
I want to ask her to stay, more than anything I want that, but it would be like clipping a bird’s wings because I like the way it sings when it perches near me. Like fighting for Jadelyn when both of us knew we’d reached the end.
“You’re quiet,” she murmurs.
I open my eyes. She’s watching me. Those bright blue eyes—so clear, so unflinching—burning through whatever mask I thought I had on.
“You’re amazing,” I say, my voice low, rough. I let my hands slip from her waist to her face, cupping her cheeks. “I’ve never seen anything like you.”
And yes, I’m talking about her dancing, but also…her.
The essence of Lucy is summer and sunshine and freedom and movement… all things this world erodes with routine and fear and the slow grind of being practical.
She gives a little laugh, breathy and self-conscious. “I was just messing around.”
“Even more amazing, then.” I brush my thumb along her jaw.
The look she gives me is almost shy. Almost.
A breath, a beat, and then my lips are on hers, and it’s like touching lightning. She softens against me, rising on her toes, pulling me down, deepening the kiss with this hungry, sun-warmed ache that sends heat roaring through me. Her hands are in my hair. Mine find her waist. Then her back. Her spine. I want to feel all of her. I want to memorize her with my palms. I kiss along her jaw. Her neck. I graze her ear with my teeth and she shivers. Her breath hitches. My name escapes her lips like a promise.
“I want you,” I whisper, but I don’t mean just for tonight. I want Lucy in my life, my heart, my rhythm, my purpose. I want her smiling over coffee and laughing over dinner, then moaning in my bed and I don’t just want it now. I want it always.
I wantheralways.
“Then take me,” she says, breathy, wanting, and she can only mean now, in this moment, because Lucy was never mine to keep. She was always going to ask to be set free.
But I would rather have one night with her than a thousand with anyone else.
So I kiss her again, slower this time. Devouring and awestruck all at once. Like I’m burning her name into my very being.
We stumble down the hallway, lips tangled, laughter bubbling between the breathless moments. My handfinds hers, our fingers lacing tight, grounding us in something that feels frighteningly like love.
The bedroom door clicks shut behind us and the last light of sunset glows through the curtains, wrapping the room in a hushed amber glow. I lift the hem of her shirt, brushing my knuckles along the soft skin of her back. She leans into the touch, her eyes dark and wide, searching mine.
We undress slowly. Like we’re unwrapping something sacred. There’s no rush. Just the sound of our breaths, the whisper of fabric, the rhythm of hands traveling favorite terrains. Her mouth finds mine again. Her thighs wrap around me as we settle into each other, a tangle of limbs and want and whispered names. There’s heat, yes—an undeniable, breath-stealing pull—but under it all is something deeper.
A surrender.
A truth.
That for tonight, we’re not broken. We’re not uncertain. We’re not afraid.
We’re here. Together. Whole in a way neither of us expected.
When we come together, it’s not frantic or greedy. It’s slow and aching. A claiming of something I’ll never stop wanting. After, we lie tangled in the hush, skin damp, hearts still racing. My fingers trace lazy patterns along her arm. Her head rests on my chest, and I can feel her smile even before I see it.
I kiss the top of her head and close my eyes.
Maybe love isn’t about holding on forever.
Maybe it’s about showing up fully, even when you know you might have to let go.
