None of it reaches the space between us.
When he leans in to speak, his mouth brushes close to my ear.
“You look dangerous tonight,” he murmurs.
“Is that a complaint,” I ask.
His smile is slow. “It’s a warning to myself.”
That does things to me.
Dinner unfolds easily. He checks my drink, my plate—subtle, unshowy. When people approach, he shifts just enough that I’m included. Not displayed.
Chuck appears at some point—because of course he does—but Derek intercepts it without effort. A nod. A boundary. No scene. No tension passed to me.
I relax.
Dessert comes. Tiramisu.
He lifts the spoon and pauses.
“Open,” he says quietly.
I do.
He feeds me slowly, watching my reaction, the way my lips close around the spoon. His jaw tightens just a fraction.
“That’s unfair,” I murmur.
He leans closer. “You invited me.”
I take the spoon from his hand and return the favor.
Under the table, his knee presses lightly against mine.
I don’t move away.
The room is full. Loud. Bright.
But the space between us feels contained. Intimate.
When we stand to leave, his hand finds my back again. This time, it stays.
And I know—without rushing it—that we’re moving forward.
Slowly.
Intentionally.
Together.
Chapter Forty-Three
AUDRA
We don’t talk muchon the drive.
Not because there’s anything left unsaid. Because the quiet is charged in a way that doesn’t need help.
