“Good.Because I’m not doing casual with you.”
Her gaze searches mine, as if looking for a trap.She doesn’t find one.“What does ‘not casual’ look like to you?”she asks.
I don’t hesitate.“It looks like me showing up to your librarian events and pretending to understand those weird literary jokes.It looks like you coming to the station barbecue and watching grown men fight over potato salad like toddlers.It looks like keys on the same hook.Mornings.Dishes.Arguing about thermostats.Socks that go missing and reappear in impossible places.Real boring magic.”
Her throat works.“And sex?”
I grin.“That too.Loudly.Often.After consent and coffee.”
She laughs, then sobers.That big heart of hers opens in her eyes again, cautious but brave.“I’ve never had that,” she says.“The boring magic.It was always eggshells and apologies and pretending.”
“I know,” I say softly.“That’s why we’re going to take our time.Not with wanting each other, we’re shit at that, but with building the rest.You deserve something that doesn’t burn you to have warmth.”
Thunder cracks overhead.The lights flicker and then go out.Aunt Dee swears in the kitchen and Olivia tenses, but only for a second.
“Hey,” I murmur, squeezing her gently.“It’s just a storm.”
“I know.”She breathes out.“My body just ...remembers.”
“Let it.Then remind it again.You’re safe.”
She presses her forehead to mine in the darkness, our breaths tangling.Rain thrums on the roof like a drumbeat.Somewhere in there, her body relaxes fully against me.We sit like that for a long time—no big speeches, no declarations shouted over orchestras.Just breath and rain and warmth.
The future doesn’t feel like a threat anymore.It feels like a promise.
****
Two Days Later
The phone ring, an unknown number,
This time it’s a detective with a controlled voice and measured words.“We have the suspect in custody.”
I’m at the kitchen table with Olivia when I hear it.She closes her eyes as if she’s been holding her breath forever and finally lets it go.
They’d found him.The evidence against him is overwhelming and charges have been filed.It doesn’t fix everything, but it fixes enough to start.
She hangs up the phone, looks at me, and then she laughs.Not hysterically but freely.Something wild and grateful surges through my chest and before I know it, I’m lifting her and spinning her in the kitchen like an idiot in a rom-com who somehow earned it.
“He can’t touch you again,” I whisper against her cheek.“Ever.”
She cups my face, eyes bright, and kisses me like I’m the future she finally gets to keep.
It goes from laughing to breathless in half a second.Then she pulls back and says, wicked and sure, “Bedroom.Now.”
I’m already moving.We don’t stumble this time.We don’t hesitate.
Our clothes disappear fast, like the inconvenience they are in this moment.She pushes me back on the bed and climbs onto me, confidence settling into her bones like heat.
My hands grip her hips automatically.“Fuck, look at you.Are you trying to kill me, little librarian?”
“Ride you to death,” she says sweetly.“Hero’s funeral.Bagpipes.Flags.”
I choke on a laugh and then groan as she sinks down onto me slowly, taking me deep in one long, devastating slide.Her head falls back and my control evaporates.
“Jesus, Olivia,” I rasp, fingers digging into her thighs.“That’s it.Take me.Look at you, you ride me like you own me.”
She leans forward, hands on my chest, rocking her hips in delicious slow circles that make my vision white around the edges.Her breasts sway with every movement mesmerizing me.
