His brows flicker, like he’s not sure if he should, but he pulls out his phone anyway. I rattle off my number and he types it in, thumb hovering for a second before he pockets the phone with a quiet nod.
For a moment, the air hangs heavier, like there’s more he could say, but doesn’t. Then his gaze shifts, his voice going rougher. “I’m glad Sophie had today. The BBQ helped ease the sting of her mom flaking this weekend.”
There’s a weight to his voice now, lower, unguarded.
“It’s frustrating as hell,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “She bails more than she shows up.”
My chest aches. “That must be hard.”
He shrugs, but it’s tight, restrained. “I just hate seeing her get her hopes up every time. Especially now. She’s so excited about her mom coming to the musical. Odds are…”
His jaw flexes. “Odds are, she won’t show. And I don’t know how to protect her from that without breaking her heart myself.”
I don’t say anything—just let the silence hold. Sometimes listening is the only thing that matters.
His gaze flicks to mine, and for a beat, it feels like the rest of the room falls away. The weight of what he just said lingers between us—his worry, his honesty, all of it laid bare.
Only then do I realize how close we are.
The air shifts. My skin prickles. Butterflies arrive uninvited in my stomach.
His gaze drops to my mouth. Lingers there for half a heartbeat.
Then he leans in—slow, deliberate—his breath brushing mine.
His lips just graze mine. Not even a full kiss. Just the barest sweep of contact.
But it’s enough.
A jolt fires down my spine. My breath stutters. Goosebumps ripple across my skin like someone flipped a switch.
And all too soon, he pulls back.
“Sorry,” he mutters. “I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s okay,” I say, a little breathless. “Really.”
He nods, but the air’s changed.
Then I turn, grab my purse, and offer a small, awkward wave as I head out.
I hear the soft click of the door behind me.
Only then do I let out the breath I’d been holding since his mouth brushed mine, every nerve in my body still on fire.
What just happened?
And why do I want it to happen again?
By the time I tuck myself in, the logical side of my brain has convinced me it’s safer to pretend it didn’t happen.
Tomorrow will just be another normal day of physical therapy.
Right?
Chapter Eight
DECLAN
