Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Slow. Hesitant.
I knew those footsteps.
Xavier appeared in the doorway. He wore clean clothes. Black thermal, dark jeans, boots. Looked like he’d showered. His hair was still slightly damp, pushed back from his face.
Exhausted.
Beautiful.
He watched me like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to come closer.
My lungs seized.
“Clare...”
Just my name. Rough. Uncertain.
His voice was getting stronger. The words came easier now, less fragmented. Still painful, still limited, but improving.
I gripped my coffee mug tighter. “Hi.”
Brilliant conversational opening. Really breaking new ground there.
Xavier stayed in the doorway. One hand braced against the frame. Not coming in without permission.
The distance between us felt wider than the actual kitchen.
“I’m sorry.” The words tumbled out. Frantic. “For leaving. I shouldn’t have...”
“No.” He cut me off. Stepped inside finally. Let the entrance swing shut behind him. “Don’t... apologize. You needed... space. Think.”
He crossed to the table. Pulled out the chair across from me.
Not beside me. Not too close.
Respecting the boundaries I’d drawn even though every line of his body screamed that he wanted to be closer.
I stared at him across three feet of scarred wood that might as well have been a canyon.
“You’re leaving tomorrow.”
Xavier nodded. His jaw clenched.
“And I...” The words stuck. Too vulnerable. Too raw. “I can’t let you go thinking I don’t...”
I couldn’t finish.
Couldn’t admit out loud what I’d been feeling. What had been building since I’d dragged him out of that alley and made the choice that changed everything.
Xavier’s hand moved across the table. Palm up. Not reaching for me. Just offering.
Giving me the choice.
I stared at his palm. The calluses. The scars across his knuckles. The slight tremor I could see starting, symptom of the chip’s deterioration.
My hand moved before I could overthink it. Slid across the table. Found his.
His fingers closed around mine immediately.
