Safe things.
And I could feel the effort it took for him not to push past that line.
Halfway through dinner, after the plates had been cleared and the wine had breathed long enough to taste dangerous, he reached into the inside pocket of his coat and set something small on the table between us.
A simple box.Matte black.No ribbon.
My breath caught.
“What’s that?”I asked carefully.
“Open it.”
I hesitated, then did.
Inside was a thin gold chain.No diamonds.No excess.Just a small, oval locket—polished, understated, impossibly intimate.
My throat tightened.
“It opens,” he said quietly.
I flipped it open.Inside were two tiny engravings.Initials.
M and M.
My chest squeezed painfully.
“I didn’t want something insignificant,” he continued.“Or permanent in a way that traps you.”His gaze held mine, steady and unflinching.“I wanted something you could choose to wear.Or not.”
I closed the locket slowly.
“Creed...”My voice wavered.
“I’m not asking for anything tonight,” he said.“This isn’t pressure.It’s acknowledgment.”
The word settled between us.
I set the box down, my fingers brushing his as I did.The contact sent a sharp awareness up my arm.
“I like this,” he said then, covering my hand with his.
“The food?”I managed.
He almost smiled.
“Us,” he said.“Like this.Quiet.No chasing.No running.”
“It’s temporary,” I said, even as my thumb brushed the edge of his knuckle.
His gaze darkened—not with anger, but with something deeper.Something searching.
“Is it?”
I pulled my hand back, my chest tight with wanting, fear, hope—too much tangled together to name.
The locket sat between us, catching the candlelight.
Not a promise.
