“Good.” She catches my hand before I can pull it back all the way, presses a kiss to my palm. “Same.”
I forget what I was going to say next.
“When I’m on deadline,” she continues like she didn’t just short-circuit my brain, “I forget to eat entirely. My cat judges me.”
“Mr. Darcy.”
She blinks. “How do you know my cat’s name?”
“Lucas told me last night. After his date with you.” I grin. “Told me the pen name, and I was up until three in the morning reading all four.”
“There’s a group chat, isn’t there? Between the three of you?”
“There’s always been a group chat. Since high school.” I refill her wine. “We never deleted it. Even after you left.”
“What do you talk about?”
“Everything. Nothing. Lucas sends articles about medical breakthroughs. Nate sends exactly zero messages and then responds with one word six hours later. I send pictures of plants nobody asked for.”
She laughs. “That tracks.”
“Nate hasn’t said much about you being back. But he will.” I lean back in my chair. “He processes slow.”
Her face goes thoughtful. “I still need to talk to him.”
“Chapter seven in particular.”
“Please stop.”
“And chapter twelve. That scene was?—”
“Theodore Holt, if you finish that sentence, I’m leaving.”
I grin. She’s blushing furiously, trying to hide behind her wine glass, and she’s so beautiful it hurts.
“I liked it,” I say quietly. “Your books. For what it’s worth. Not just the... detailed parts. All of it. The way you write about love. About wanting something so much it scares you.”
She lowers the glass. “You did?”
“I saw myself in those pages. The version of me I wanted to be. The one who actually asks for things instead of just giving all the time.” I reach across the table, take her hand. “I’m not there yet. But I’m trying.”
“You’re doing better than you think.” She squeezes my fingers. “Kissing me in the greenhouse. Making me risotto. That’s not nothing.”
“It’s not enough.”
“It’s a start.” She stands, comes around the table, and settles into my lap like she belongs there.
My hands find her hips automatically. Hold her steady. She’s warm and soft and fits against me perfectly, and everything in me screamsomega, ours, keep. Her scent surrounds me—honey and citrus and that deeper note of want underneath—and I feel myself responding in ways I haven’t in years. Protective. Possessive. Hungry.
“We have time, Theo.” Her voice is soft. “We don’t have to figure it all out tonight.”
“No?” My voice comes out rougher than intended. Gravelly. My grip tightens on her hips without meaning to.
“No.” She loops her arms around my neck, unfazed. Like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me and she likes it. Her fingers play with the hair at my nape. “Tonight, we can just... be. Together. No past, no future. Just this.”
“Just this,” I repeat. My thumbs trace circles on her hip bones through her sweater. I watch her breath catch, smell the way her scent spikes sweeter.
“Mmhmm.” She kisses the corner of my mouth. Soft. Teasing. “Is that okay?”
