His voice dropped. “I definitely did.”
I covered my whole face. “I’m never speaking again.”
He gently pulled one of my hands away, thumb brushing the back of my knuckles. “Look at me.”
I did.
Slowly.
Barely.
He stepped closer until we were toe to toe. “You’re not the only one dealing with feelings.”
My breath stopped.
“I’ve been trying to figure out what this is, too. I’m not asking you to define it. I’m not asking you to decide anything right now. I’m just… not going to pretend it didn’t mean something.”
His fingers traced a slow line over my wrist.
“And I don’t think you want to pretend either.”
I wanted to deny it.
I really did.
But the truth rose up like a tide.
“No,” I whispered. “I don’t want to pretend.”
His jaw softened, and he smiled.
“But I’m scared,” I added.
“I know,” he said.
“And confused.”
“I know.”
“And occasionally attracted to you in ways that should be illegal.”
He smiled slowly in that devastating way. “I know that too.”
Silence.
A breath away from something dangerous and real.
“Come on. Walk with me.”
We walked the long trail, our shoulders brushing every few minutes like magnets misbehaving. The night before hovered between us with the almost-kiss and the confessions on the edge of our tongues.
I didn’t know where this was going.
I didn’t know if I was ready. I didn’t know if he was either.
But as our hands brushed, both tentative and electric, I realized something important.
I wasn’t running.
