He studied me for a moment, like he wasn’t used to people pushing back gently.
“I don’t know anything about my biological mom,” I went on. “Not her name. Not her face. Nothing. But my momma—the one who raised me—she’s everything. She and my dad couldn’t have kids, so they adopted me. Then Cassie. Then Mason. Then Bo and Lily. Five kids who weren’t supposed to happen.”
I smiled despite myself.
“They’re the best people I know,” I said. “They chose us. Every day.”
His gaze softened in a way that made my breath catch.
“You’re lucky,” he said.
“I know,” I replied. “I don’t take it for granted.”
The kettle whistled, breaking the moment. I turned it off and poured the water, grateful for the interruption. We sat on opposite ends of the sofa with our mugs between us, the space intentional and somehow unbearable.
“You’re very … positive,” he said after a moment.
I laughed softly. “Is that a nice way of saying naive?”
“No,” he said immediately. “It’s just different.”
“Different how?”
“I tend to expect the worst,” he admitted. “You seem to expect things to work out.”
“Someone has to,” I said. “Otherwise, what’s the point?”
He considered that, then shook his head like he didn’t have an answer.
The silence settled again—but this time, it felt electric.
He shifted on the sofa, his knee angling closer to mine. Not touching. Almost.
“There’s something else,” he said, his voice lower now.
My pulse kicked hard.
“Okay.”
He exhaled slowly, like he was bracing himself. “I don’t want you to think less of me.”
I swallowed. “I don’t.”
“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”
“Try me.”
His gaze dropped to his coffee, then lifted back to my face. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”
The admission landed like a spark.
“After Dominion Hall,” he continued. “After the shop. It doesn’t make sense. I don’t usually … fixate.”
I nodded, afraid to speak.
“And,” he added, almost reluctantly, “I took care of myself. Thinking about you.”
Heat rushed through me so fast I had to grip my mug.
