I felt my face heat but didn’t pull away from Archie. His thumb traced patterns on my shoulder through the blanket, gentle and unconscious.
Eventually Mary stood, announcing that she needed her afternoon nap and that we should rest too. The spare room was upstairs, second door on the left, with fresh sheets and plenty of blankets. She’d wake us when roadside assistance arrived.
Before either of us could protest or offer to sleep on the couch, she was gone, disappearing down the hallway with a wave and instructions to make ourselves at home.
Archie and I looked at each other.
“We don’t have to,” he said immediately. “I can sleep on the couch. Mary won’t know.”
“That’s ridiculous. We’re adults. We can share a room without it meaning anything.” Even as I said it, I knew I was lying. Everything with Archie meant something.
We climbed the stairs in silence. The spare room was exactly like Mary had described—small and cozy, dominated by a bed that was definitely meant for couples. Candles lit up the place. Clean white sheets, a handmade quilt in shades of blue and green, pillows that looked soft enough to sink into. Windows showed rain still pouring outside, gray and relentless.
I sat on the edge of the bed while Archie stood by the window, looking uncertain for the first time since I’d known him. His hands were in his pockets and he was deliberately not looking at the bed like if he ignored it, the situation would become less complicated.
“Stop hovering and come here,” I said.
He turned to look at me. “Gianna?—”
“Just come here.”
He crossed the room and sat beside me, leaving careful space between us that felt wrong after spending the last two hours pressed together in his car. I closed that space immediately, leaning my head on his shoulder and feeling him relax.
We sat like that listening to rain hammer the windows, and I realized I’d never felt safer than I did right now in this stranger’s house with Archie’s arm around me.
“What are we doing?” His voice was quiet, careful, like he was afraid the wrong answer might break something fragile.
“I don’t know.” I lifted my head to look at him. “I’m terrible at casual. Everything with you feels significant in ways that scare me. Maybe we should talk about what this is.”
He shifted to face me fully, taking both my hands in his. “I don’t want casual either. I want you—all of you, completely, if you’ll have me. I want to take you on dates and meet your friends properly and be the person you call when something good happens or something terrible happens or when nothing’s happening at all.”
My chest felt too full, like my heart had expanded beyond what my ribs could contain. “That sounds like a relationship.”
“That’s exactly what it is.” His thumbs traced circles on my hands. “Gianna… I haven’t been able to be reasonable about you since the moment we met.”
I thought about the lie we’d just played downstairs, pretending to be married, and how easy it had been. How right it felt to lean into him and hold his hand and let Mary assume we belonged to each other.
“I want that too,” I said. “I want you. I want to try this thing between us and see where it goes.”
His smile transformed his entire face, made him look younger and happier and completely unguarded. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He kissed me then, soft and sweet and careful. His hands framed my face like I was something precious, his thumbs brushing my cheekbones. I leaned into the kiss, into him, my hands finding his shoulders and then sliding into his hair.
The kiss deepened gradually. His tongue traced my lower lip and I opened for him. He made a sound low in his throat and pulled me closer, one hand sliding from my face to the back of my neck.
I shifted forward, needing to be closer, and he guided me onto his lap without breaking the kiss. My knees settled on either side of his hips and his hands found my waist, holding me steady. The angle was better like this, deeper, and I pressed against him without thinking about it.
His hands moved to my lower back, pulling me flush against him. I could feel his heart racing, could feel the way his breath caught when I tugged his hair.
I rolled my hips experimentally, and he groaned against my mouth, his hands tightening on my waist.
“Gianna,” he breathed, pulling back just enough to look at me. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. “We should slow down.”
“Why?”
“Because if we don’t, I won’t be able to stop.” His voice was rough, strained. “And we’re in a stranger’s house and you deserve better than this.”
