“It is when it’s you,” he mumbles. “It’s like the air changes.”
“That sounds ridiculous.”
He makes a low sound of amusement. “You’re the one doing it. Thinking loud.”
“I’m not,” I insist, though I can feel the smile tugging at my mouth.
He shifts closer, his voice softer now. “You are. I can tell.”
I turn fully to look at him, and the sight almost undoes me—his hair rumpled, his eyes half open, the faintest trace of a grin.
He studies me for a second, then says quietly, “Whatever it is, stop overthinking it.”
Before I can reply, he leans in and kisses me.
It’s soft and sure, and all the noise in my head falls away.
When he pulls back, he stays close, his forehead resting against mine.
“Better?” he murmurs.
I nod, breathless.
He smiles. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere, Eve. You don’t have to keep talking yourself out of something that’s already right here.”
I swallow, the warmth in my chest flickering with something sharper. “You say that, but we live in completely different parts of the country.”
He brushes a strand of hair from my face. “It’s only a three-hour drive to Norfolk.”
“Three hours,” I repeat, as if saying it out loud makes it shorter.
“I can come up on weekends,” he says lightly. “And we’re good at writing, aren’t we? We already know how to do the distance thing.”
He says it so simply, as if it’s the most reasonable thing in the world. My heart wants to believe him. My brain, however, starts cataloguing every possible obstacle.
“Aaron, your friends are in London. Your work. My life’s in Norfolk. Myfamily—”
He cuts in gently, his tone soft but certain. “It’s just three hours, Eve.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he keeps going. “And people move.”
I blink. “Move?”
He grins at my expression, that small, quiet smile that always makes me feel slightly off-balance. “Not now,” he says quickly. “I’m not asking for that. But if things work out… why not?”
The thought makes me gasp for air. “You can’t just say things like that,” I whisper.
“Why not?” he counters lightly. “It’s the truth.”
He reaches for my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “We don’t need to plan it all today. We’ve got time.”
I stare at him, trying to work out how he can sound so sure about something that terrifies me. But he looks at me the way he always does—steady, unhurried, like he’s already figured out I’m worth waiting for.
Aaron traces lazy circles on the back of my hand. “We could mix things up a bit, you know. Not just emails. Maybe the occasional phone call.”
I give him a look. “You know I hate phone calls.”
He grins. “Exactly why we should have one. Exposure therapy.”
