“Hey,” I whisper back.
He blinks at me like he’s trying to make sure I’m real.“You’re still here.”
“Of course I’m still here.”
“Good,” he breathes, relief loosening every line of tension in his shoulders.“I wasn’t ready to be devastated before breakfast.”
I laugh under my breath.“Devastated?”
“Emotionally ruined.Heart shattered.You know.The usual.”
I nudge him gently with my knee.“I told you last night—none of that was a mistake.”
“Yeah,” he whispers, eyes dropping to my mouth, “but morning logic is different than nighttime logic.In the morning, people remember taxes and responsibilities and consequences.”
My cheeks warm.“I didn’t forget anything.”
He smiles—slow and warm and so sincere it knocks the breath out of me.“Good.Because if you regretted it, I’d...I don’t know.Move to the woods.Become a hermit.Grow a beard.Get a pet raccoon.”
I laugh before I can help it.“A raccoon?”
He shrugs lightly, the motion shifting the entire mattress.“Companionship, Wren.Emotional support trash animal.”
Another laugh escapes me, this one too loud.He grins proudly like making me laugh is a personal accomplishment.
Then the grin fades, replaced by something softer.
“Can I touch you?”he asks.
My heart stutters.“You’re already touching me.”
His thumb brushes my waist.“Not like that.I mean—can I really touch you?”
I swallow.
Then nod.
He shifts closer, cupping my cheek with a hand that’s both warm and hesitant.His thumb strokes lightly along my jaw.My breath catches.
“You okay?”he whispers.
“Yes.”
He leans in and kisses me.
Slow.
Barely-there.
Sweet enough to make my chest ache.
It’s nothing like last night’s heat.This is morning tenderness—soft lips, gentle hands, a kiss that feels like a question and an answer at the same time.
He pulls back just enough to study me.
“You’re still shaking,” he says quietly.
“No I’m not.”
