I narrow my eyes at her, feigning annoyance, but a smirk pulls at my mouth despite myself. “Stealing food now, Dove?”
“I’m just quality-checking,” she says with a grin, echoing her words from earlier.
The way she says it, the way she’s able to let her guard down around me and coax me out of my own darkness—it’s like a balm I didn’t know I needed.
And as we sit there, eating and teasing each other in the quiet of the morning, I realize that this—her, here with me—is something I never thought I’d have, much less crave.
The weight of that realization settles into my chest, heavier and more solid than anything I’ve felt in a long time.
She reaches for another piece, smirking as she deliberately holds it up like a prize. “You know, maybe I should be the one cooking breakfast every morning. That way, I won’t have to resort to thievery.”
I arch a brow, watching her hold that piece of pancake justout of reach, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Bold of you to assume I’d let you into my kitchen unsupervised.”
She laughs, the sound like a light breeze lifting the whole room. “Oh, come on, Ashton. I might surprise you.”
“Maybe,” I say, and without warning, I reach across the table, catching her hand in mine before she can pull away. Her eyes widen slightly, but she doesn’t pull back, watching me with an amused glint as I bring her hand—pancake and all—close enough to take a bite.
I keep my gaze on her, savoring the victory and the way her smile slowly fades into something softer, something that hitches her breath as she stares back at me.
“What was that?” she murmurs, eyes narrowing, but with that playful edge still there.
“That was me reclaiming what’s mine,” I say, smirking as I lean back, my fingers lingering on hers just a second longer than necessary.
She rolls her eyes, but she’s still smiling, her cheeks flushed, her thumb brushing the back of my hand in a way that feels… easy. Natural. Like we’ve been doing this for far longer than we actually have.
She lets her hand drift back to her lap, but her gaze stays on me, her eyes searching, like she’s trying to figure out a puzzle she can’t quite solve. “You know, you’re not as scary as you think you are,” she says softly, that teasing edge gone, replaced by something warmer, almost tender.
I let out a low chuckle, shaking my head. “If you’re trying to ruin my reputation, you’re doing a hell of a job.”
“Maybe I am,” she says, grinning. “Maybe I like that. I get to see a side of you no one else does.”
There’s a warmth in her words, something that strikes deeper than I expect. And for a second, I find myself caught—unable to look away from her, from that openness in her eyes. Ifeel myself soften. The walls I’ve kept up around her slipping, just enough that I can feel it. This is dangerous ground, a place I swore I’d never go. But with her, it’s like the rules I set for myself don’t apply.
“Careful, Dove,” I say, my voice lower, rougher than I intended. “You keep looking at me like that, and I might start to believe you actually want me around.”
Her smile softens, something like understanding flickering in her gaze. “Maybe I do,” she whispers, so quiet it feels like a secret.
The words hang between us, heavy and warm, and I feel the urge to reach across the table again, to touch her, to close this distance that suddenly feels too wide. But instead, I keep my hands where they are, letting the moment stretch, letting her see every part of me I usually keep hidden.
“Stay,” I find myself saying, the word almost an ache, a crack in my armor that I can’t seem to fix. “Just… stay.”
She nods, and that’s all it takes for the tension to ease, for something that feels like relief to settle into my chest. We don’t say anything else. We just sit there, letting the quiet fall between us, letting the moment linger like a promise.
The soft humof the home theater fills the room as the overhead lights dim, casting everything in a warm, amber glow. The leather seats are plush beneath us, the air thick with the scent of aged wood and the faintest hint of popcorn lingering from earlier. There’s an intimacy to the space, a kind of hushed comfort, as if it were made for moments just like this—moments when the world fades out and all that’s left is us.
Dove settles beside me, her legs tucked beneath her, her body turned just enough so I can feel the heat of her skin. She’s so close that I can hear the quiet rhythm of her breathing, the gentle flutter of her pulse. It’s like she’s in my space now, but not in a way that feels suffocating. Instead, she feels like a breath of fresh air in a room that’s been sealed off for too long.
“Do you watch movies often?” she asks, her voice breaking the quiet, though it’s not loud enough to disrupt the calm between us.
“Not really.” I lean back in the seat, letting the leather mold around me as I stretch my legs out in front of me. “I don’t have much time for it.”
She glances at me, her eyes searching. There’s a softness in the way she watches me now, like she’s trying to peel back the layers I keep carefully guarded. It feels different than it has before, like she’s not just observing from a distance anymore, but truly seeing me. And I can’t hide from that, not when it feels so real.
“I used to watch them when I was a kid,” I say, my voice quieter than usual. I didn’t plan on saying that. I didn’t plan on opening up at all. But there’s something in the way she’s looking at me, something that makes the words spill out before I can stop them. “It was… the only way to escape, you know? Just disappearing into someone else’s world for a while.”
The words hang in the air, but I don’t regret them. Not yet.
She doesn’t say anything at first, just watches me, and I can feel the weight of her gaze. Like she’s waiting for more.
