“Whatever you want.”
He put on a movie. Something with a heist and complicated family dynamics. I couldn't have told you the plot.
I was too aware of him tucked under my arm, his fingers tracing absent patterns on my thigh. The weight of the dog on my lap. The easy silence that had settled over the room.
This doesn't feel like the arrangement anymore.
The thought arrived fully formed.
This morning—the coffee, the kitchen, the conversation about my grandmother—none of it had been for show. No audience, no Landon to perform for, no deal we were fulfilling. Just us, in his house, spending a Sunday like it was something we did.
Like it was something we could keep doing, like we’d silently agreed to just be ourselves here, open and free, keeping the problems of the outside world far away.
My hand found his hair. Sifted through the waves, traced the curve of his ear. Jamie made a small sound and pressed closer, eyes drifting shut.
“Holden?”
“Mm.”
“What are we doing?”
The same question I kept asking myself. The same question I still didn't have words for.
“I don't know,” I said honestly. “Do you want me to go?”
Jamie turned his head back to look at me. His eyes searched my face for something I hoped he'd find.
“No,” he said. “Of course not, silly.”
I kissed his forehead. His temple. The soft skin below his ear. He shivered against me, pressing closer, and when I pulled back he was looking at me with something that made my chest tight.
“Holden.” His voice had gone low, rough at the edges. “Take me back to bed.”
I didn't answer with words. Just slid one arm under his knees, the other around his back, and stood.
Jamie made a sound, surprised, breathless, and his arms went around my neck. Carrying him down the hall felt easy, natural, like something I could do every day for the rest of my life.
“Show-off,” he murmured against my throat, but he was smiling.
Marceline lifted her head as we passed, watching with mild interest. Bubblegum didn't stir.
The bedroom door was still open from this morning. I carried him through, kicked it shut behind us, and laid him down on the unmade sheets. He pulled me down after him and the afternoon light had already gone gold.
By the time we surfaced again, it had faded to gray, and I still hadn't left.
I was starting to think I didn't want to.
Chapter Six
Jamie
The bell over the door had become my favorite sound.
The girls and I pushed through at a quarter after ten on Monday with two coffees from the Copper Kettle, and Holden looked up from the workbench with that expression I'd started collecting. Not quite a smile, but close. Softer than the face he wore for customers. The one that said he'd been waiting.
“Hey there,” he said.
“Mags wanted to tell me about her niece's engagement. In detail.” I dropped the leashes and handed him the drink carrier. “There were photos. So many photos. I now know more about floral centerpiece options than I ever thought possible, which feels ironic given where I'm standing.”
