“Say it,” I prompt softly.
“What happens now?”she asks.“After the fire.After the sex.After the dramatic porch confrontation.In real life.”
I grin.“Now?Now we get coffee.And then we do boring, infuriating, necessary things.Police follow-ups.Safety plans.Therapy appointments, if you want.Locks, cameras, neighbors on alert.Real life isn’t fireworks every five minutes.”
She exhales, relieved.“Good.Fireworks are exhausting.”
I brush my thumb over the tiny scar on her eyebrow again.“But also?Real life is me taking you on dates.It’s showing up for your bad days.It’s you complaining about patrons who dog-ear pages while I pretend not to enjoy how angry you get about paper.It’s you coming to my calls and glaring at me for getting soot on my face.”
Her lips curve.“That would be stupidly hot.”
“Everything about me is stupidly hot,” I say solemnly.
She snorts.“Wow.Humility.”
“Doesn’t live here.”
She pushes herself up on one elbow, the sheet sliding in a way that absolutely derails my train of thought for a solid three seconds.She notices, smirks, and files the knowledge away like a librarian who just realized what power she has.
“Do you fall this hard for all your rescues?”she teases.
I go serious instantly.
“No,” I say, because joking isn’t right for this part.“Just you.I saw you in that fire, singed hair, ash on your face, shaking, furious at yourself for being scared and my brain just ...made room.I fell first and I’m not ashamed of it.”
Silence stretches.
Then she leans down and kisses me slow, sweet, like thanks without the awkward words.
When she pulls back, she whispers, “I’m falling, too.”
Yeah, that’ll rearrange a man’s whole chest cavity.
I can’t help myself when I pin her beneath me and push my cock inside her.She mewls, her hips meeting me thrust for thrust until we both find our bliss.
****
By the time we makeit out of bed, Aunt Dee has already made breakfast like she runs a sanctuary and we’re just lucky to live in it.She eyes us both.One eyebrow goes up.She says nothing.She doesn’t have to.
Olivia turns the color of a ripe tomato, and I wink at Aunt Dee and grab plates before she can throw something at me.
The day unfolds in pieces.
We go back to the station.There’s more paperwork.More recordings.Olivia’s ex is officially not just a problem, he’s a case.Detectives talk about arrest warrants.Restraining orders move from theory to action.Words like “probable cause” and “arson investigation” and “attempted homicide” hover in the air.
Every time the room tilts for Olivia, I’m there.Not talking for her.Not shielding her from her own voice.Just ...there.
She stands taller as the day goes on.Says her name and his like the words don’t own her anymore.Describes the fire without apologizing for the smoke in her throat.
When we walk out of the building the last time, there’s rain threatening on the horizon and that pre-storm wind that smells like change.
“You did that,” I say.
She shakes her head.“We did that.”
“No,” I insist gently.“You.”
She looks at the sky, then at me.
