"I want you, Ainsley," he says, and the words are so raw, so honest, that I feel them in my bones. "Not just as a roommate. Not just as a friend. I want all of it. The messy, complicated, terrifying parts. I want to wake up and make you coffee. Help you in your garden. Be the person you come home to at the end of a long shift."
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. "Troy—"
"I'm not going anywhere," he says firmly. "And I'm not just talking about the room. I'm talking about you. About us.Whatever this is, it's worth fighting for. And I need you to know that. Once we choose each other, then that’s it. We continue to choose each other every day and work it out."
A tear slips down my cheek, and I swipe at it. "What if I screw it up?"
"You won't."
"You don't know that."
"I do." He reaches out, giving me time to pull away, and cups my cheek in his hand. His palm offers a warm, comforting solace with a touch as soft as it is worn. "Because you're the most careful, deliberate person I've ever met. You don't do anything halfway. And if you decide to let me in, I know you'll fight like hell to make it work."
I close my eyes, leaning into his touch. "I'm still scared."
"That's okay. I'm scared too."
I open my eyes, startled. "You are?"
"Terrified," he admits, a wry smile tugging at his mouth. "You're the first thing in my life that's felt right in years. The idea of losing you before I even get the chance to have you? Yeah. That scares the shit out of me."
A laugh bubbles up in my throat, wet and shaky. "We're a mess."
"We're a work in progress." His thumb brushes over my cheekbone, wiping away another tear. "But we can figure it out. Together."
I stare at him—at this man who showed up on my doorstep ten days ago and turned my entire world upside down. Who followed my ridiculous rules without complaint. And listened to me ramble about hot dog taxonomy and made me popcorn at two in the morning. Who looked at me like I was something precious instead of something broken.
And I make a decision.
"Okay," I whisper.
His eyes search mine. "Okay?"
"Okay." I take a shaky breath. "I'm still terrified. And I'm going to panic at least a dozen more times. But… I want to try. I want this."
The smile that breaks across his face is blinding.
"Yeah?" he asks, voice rough.
"Yeah."
And then he kisses me.
It's slow. Deliberate. His lips brush against mine once, twice, testing. Asking permission. And when I don't pull away—when I lean in instead, my hand coming up to curl into the front of his shirt—he deepens the kiss.
His lips are comforting, and taste of kettle corn and something that’s uniquely him. His hand slides from my cheek to the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair, and I melt into him. Every nerve ending lights up, every worry and fear and over-thought rule dissolving under the weight of this.
It's everything I didn't know I needed.
When we break apart, we're both breathing hard. His forehead rests against mine, and I can feel the smile on his lips.
"That was—" I start.
"Yeah," he agrees.
We sit for a moment, just breathing each other in. And for once my mind is quiet. I can’t remember the last time my head has been free of all the chaos: real and imagined.
“What’s going through that beautiful head of yours?” Troy kisses my temple and strokes my jaw.
