I stare at the plate like it might explode.
“You didn’t have to,” I say.
“I know,” she replies. “I wanted to.”
I step aside, letting her in. The air shifts immediately, charged and quiet.
She sets the plate down and turns to face me. “Did I do something?”
“No.”
“You pulled back.”
I don’t deny it.
She crosses her arms. “I don’t chase people who don’t want to be caught.”
A sharp smile tugs at my mouth. “Good.”
Her eyes flash. “Good?”
“Because if you did,” I say carefully, “I wouldn’t stand a chance.”
Silence stretches between us.
She steps closer. “You’re afraid.”
I laugh once, humorless. “You don’t know me well enough to say that.”
“I know enough,” she says. “You don’t like how much you feel.”
She’s not wrong. That’s the problem.
I take a breath. “Firefly… I don’t do half-measures. If I let myself step into something, I’m all in. And I don’t trust that right now.”
“Why?” she asks softly.
Because I’ve lost before. Because I’m not the man I used to be. Because I want you enough it scares me.
I give her the version that won’t gut us both. “Because I’m not good at… easy.”
She studies me for a long moment. Then she nods. “Okay.”
Okay.
No argument. No guilt. Just understanding.
She picks up her coat. “Bolognese’s for later. When you’re ready to stop hiding.”
She pauses at the door. “For what it’s worth, Boone… I don’t see broken when I look at you.”
The door closes behind her.
I stand there a long time, the house suddenly too quiet, her words settling into me like embers.
Pulling back doesn’t stop the fire.
It just makes it burn slower.
