We stared at each other for a beat, both of us breathing hard. The air was thick with everything unspoken—desire, hesitation, fear.
He stepped back slowly, hands lingering for a moment at my waist before he let go. I missed the weight of them instantly.
“We should go,” he said, voice low and rough. “You’re tempting me to ask for more than we’re both ready for.”
“Right,” I said. My lips still tingled. “Go. We should.”
“I have to get Tilly in the morning. But I—” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to mess this up.”
“You haven’t,” I said before I could stop myself.
He smiled. “Good, this means something to me.”
“To me too,” I confessed breathlessly.
He stepped back slowly, hands still warm at my waist. “Yeah, we should go,” he said, voice lower now, like he didn’t really want to leave.
“Yeah.” I swallowed, still breathless. “Totally, we should.”
We headed to the office side by side, the moment oddly companionable, and he opened the door to reveal exactly the level of cat-related trouble I’d expected.
Remy leapt onto the desk, giving us a long, disapproving blink like a judgmental chaperone. Linguini knocked over a pencil cup and bolted for the doorway, skidding on the tile like a drunk toddler.
“They’re not used to being anywhere else,” I said. “Just my tiny townhouse. Maybe I should have kept them on their leashes. They probably made a mess of your office.”
“It’s alright,” Nate replied, gaze still fixed on me. “Totally worth it.”
I huffed out a laugh and shook my head. “Come on, walk me home before they show you what they’re capable of and create true havoc.”
Nate clipped the leash back on Linguini and headed for the door. “Right,” he said, doubling back to switch off the lights. “Can’t have your cats starting a one-night-only pancake riot in my kitchen.”
I leashed up Remy with a laugh. “They’re more cat biscuit boys, but fair.”
He grinned and held the door open. “Lead the way.”
The air had that fresh, woodsmoke-sweet crispness Honeybrook Hollow always seemed to wear after dark, like the whole town was perpetually one step away from transforming into Stars Hollow.
Nate walked beside me, hands in his pockets, still looking way too good to be true. We didn’t say much, but it wasn’t awkward. It was like the silence between us had weight now.
When we reached the bottom of the hill near my front door, he slowed. “This is good,” I said.
“Like I’m not going to walk you to your front door,” he scoffed.
“Gentleman.”
He slipped his hand into mine as we walked the rest of the distance to my door. “Thanks for letting me kiss you,” he murmured.
“Thanks for making it wonderful.”
He grinned. “You say that like I’m done with you.”
Before I could respond, he backed me against the door and dipped in again, stealing one more kiss, this one softer and slower. Like a promise he wasn’t ready to say out loud. I squeezed his hand, feeling something spark and settle between us, a warmth that made the cool night seem softer. For a moment, we stood there, holding each other's gaze, letting the quiet say everything words might have tangled. The world felt small and safe, the porch light painting gold halos on Nate’s hair, and I realized I didn’t want to go inside just yet.
Nate leaned in, hesitating long enough for me to catch the way his eyes softened. The porch was quiet except for the distant rustle of leaves and the cats weaving between us. When his lips met mine again, the kiss was gentle and lingering, a slow exploration that spoke of patience and promise. It felt unhurried—like neither of us wanted the night to end. My breath caught, and for a moment, time slipped away, leaving just the two of us in the golden circle of the porch light.
As we lingered there, the cats twined around our ankles, meowing with approval as if they liked Nate, too. Their littlemeows punctuated the quiet, and Nate laughed, reaching down to scratch behind Remy’s ears.
I wanted to keep leaning into him, memorizing the way his breath mingled with mine in the chilly air. It didn't feel like an ending—more like the kind of beginning that slipped in quietly, surprising you with its simplicity. The moment stretched, sweet and fragile, and I could almost hear the soft hum of possibility in the quiet night.
