“Love you, too, Daddy.”
I waited until her breathing softened, then gently clicked the star projector off, the room slipping into a gentle hush. I paused at the door, glancing back once to make sure she was comfortable. The hallway felt quiet as I made my way downstairs.
In the living room, Eliza stood by the bookshelf, fingers tucked into her sleeves, looking at the framed photo of Tilly andme sitting on the front porch while Lois photobombed with her head hanging over Tilly’s shoulder.
We ended up on the couch without meaning to, a polite space between us that wasn’t as wide as it should be.
Lois had followed me downstairs and settled on her dog bed by the fireplace with her back to us like a very professional chaperone.
“Thank you for tonight,” Eliza said after a minute, fingertip worrying a loose thread on the pillow. “That was… I don’t have the right word. I keep underestimating my feelings. And you.”
“You can keep underestimating me,” I said lightly. “It’s good for my ego when I do something normal like boil pasta correctly.”
She smiled, then let something true out. “I’m not close with my parents,” she said. “It’s complicated and boring, and it doesn’t matter as much as I used to think. But tonight felt like finding a door I didn’t know I could walk through.” Her eyes lifted to mine, careful. “I needed that.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” I said, because anything else felt like it would tip us too far in one direction or the other. “I want this to feel like a place you can belong. Without effort.”
She swallowed. “It does. That’s what scares me.” Her voice was barely there. “Being with you feels simple. Safe. Like I could let myself want this—and you wouldn’t disappear or turn it into something that hurts.”
We let that sit. The heater clicked. A car drifted by, leaving headlight stripes across the ceiling, then moved on.
“I’m having feelings about you,” she said finally, like confessing to tax fraud. “Just throwing it out there in case I didn’t make it obvious before.”
I huffed a laugh. “I’m having feelings about you, too.”
“They feel—” she searched for it—“real. They feel big and overwhelming. But I don’t want them to stop.”
“Mine are too,” I took her hand and held it. I needed the contact because no matter how much she said it felt real, I was afraid she’d somehow slip away. “I don’t want to push you.”
“You’re not,” she said, quick and sure. Then quieter, “I’m pushing myself.”
She shifted closer. Not much. Enough that I could see the gold flecks in her blue eyes and the way the tendon in her throat moved when she swallowed.
“I want to kiss you,” she whispered, resting her hand on my chest. “And I want to keep being careful. I don’t know how to do both.”
“We can start and stop,” I said. “We can do small. We can go slow. Whatever pace keeps you okay. You can trust me, Eliza. I promise you.”
Something in her loosened. “Small,” she echoed. “For now. And I do trust you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
I touched her cheek with the back of my fingers, gave her a second to change her mind, and when she didn’t, I kissed her—soft and slow, the kind that saysI’m hereinstead ofI want.
She made a small sound and leaned in, and god help me, I wanted more, but I kept it where I’d promised to keep it. When I eased back, she chased me half a breath, then smiled, her lips warm against my mouth.
“This is real,” she said again, testing the word for fit.
“Yeah. It’s absolutely real, and there’s no rush. We have all the time in the world.”
We sat with our shoulders touching and our hands not, listening to Lois dream-chuff and the house creak its old, kind bones. After a while, I walked her to her car. The air was cold; our breath hung between us like a cloud.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said. “We’ll survive tiny canapés and whatever fancy crap he decides to show off with, then comeback here for leftover spaghetti instead of grilled cheese. Is that okay?”
“It sounds perfect,” she said, eyes bright. She rose on her toes, pressed a quick kiss to the corner of my mouth like a secret, and stepped back.
“Goodnight, Nate.”
“Goodnight, Eliza. Text me when you get home, okay?”
“I will.”
