Not yet. Not like this.
We stand there, neither of us moving, the tension stretching thin enough to snap. I’m acutely aware of every detail—the humof the vent, the brightness of the light, the warmth lingering where my hands were on his arm.
I turn away first, reaching for the trash to toss the used gauze, buying myself a second to breathe. If I don’t, I’m not sure I’ll stop myself.
I don’t turn around right away.
I stay facing the sink, hands braced on the counter, letting the quiet stretch until it becomes unbearable. My reflection stares back at me in the mirror—eyes too bright, face flushed, emotions sitting too close to the surface. I can feel Aiden behind me, his presence heavy and unmistakable, like gravity pulling me off balance.
“I need to say something.” His voice is still rough from the smoke.
He’s standing where I left him, posture careful, like he’s trying not to crowd me, but his attention is absolute. His eyes track my face, searching, waiting. It’s the same look he used to give me when he knew I was about to leap and wasn’t sure whether to catch me or step back.
“I should have told you the truth. About that night. The morning after.”
My breath catches in my throat.
“It wasn’t a mistake for me,” he continues. “Not even a little. It was the most real thing I’d ever felt.”
“Same for me.” My eyes sting at the corners. “And when you called it a mistake, when you walked away like it was something you needed to undo, it broke something in me.”
“Harper, I’m?—”
I hold up a hand to stop him, and he goes silent. I swallow hard, forcing myself to keep going before fear can shut me down. “I built my life on top of that break. I married someone else. I told myself I was fine. I told myself I would moved oneventually.” A shaky breath slips out. “But I didn’t. Not really. I just learned how to live around it.”
Aiden takes a half step toward me, then stops himself. “Harper.”
I shake my head. “I’m not asking you for anything. I just—needed you to know.”
The space between us hums, stretched thin. His gaze drops to my mouth again, slower this time, more deliberate. I feel the pull of it, the old instinct rising up and overriding every sensible rule we set earlier. My heart pounds, loud enough that I’m sure he can hear it.
I take a step closer.
So does he.
The distance between us narrows to inches. The heat of him penetrates my body. His breath brushes my cheek. My fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt without conscious permission. He presses against me, eyes searching. For permission? For a signal?
I give him both by pulling him down to my mouth. The sensation sparks something in me, and everything goes on high alert. Muscles tense, my heart skips. Will he regret this, or is this something real for him, too?
His hand slides along my jaw to the back of my neck beneath my hair and tilts me to open for him. The slip of his tongue lights something in my brain. His other hand clutches my hip to keep me close. And there is no misreading the low growl in his throat.
My doubts evaporate as I pull him toward the countertop. I hop onto it and wrap my legs around him to keep him close. He kisses my chin and my throat as my head tips back against the mirror. But he doesn’t go further.
Even though I know he’s hard for me.
He murmurs, “Harper, I want you. More than I… more than I should.”
Oh hell. “What do you mean?”
He stands up fully, separating from me but only by a little. “It’s late. We’re both exhausted. I can’t speak for you, but I’m not thinking clearly. In the past week, you’ve been through enough bullshit for two lifetimes.”
“And?”
He takes a beat, and all I see on his face is conflict. “If we do this, I need it to be when we’re both clear-minded.”
I grab his shirt again to pull him close. “Do you really think this is the first time I’ve thought about this since I’ve been here? Is it yours?”
He half-chuckles. “Of course not.”
