“Evan.” My voice comes out in a shudder.
His eyes drop to his jacket around my shoulders. For a second he just stares at it. Then he reaches up, fingers finding the lapels, and pulls them tighter around me.
His hands linger there, thumbs brushing the wool.
“Holly,” he says again, his hands sliding from the lapels to my shoulders. Holding me steady. Or maybe holding himself steady.
“I can't pretend that watching you work doesn't make me forget what I'm supposed to be doing. I can't pretend that seeing you across a room doesn't change my entire day. I can't pretend this is fake when it's the most real thing I've felt in years.”
“What if this is just—” I swallow hard. “What if we're confusing the performance with actual feelings?”
“Are you?”
“I don't know. That's what scares me.”
He reaches for one hand, wraps his fingers around mine.
“What else scares you?” he asks.
“That if we do this and it goes wrong, we lose what we have now. This ... friendship. Partnership. Whatever this is.”
“What if it goes right?”
“That scares me too.” I’m being more honest than I meant to be. “What if I'm just someone convenient? You needed a date, I was there?—”
“Holly.” He takes my other hand, both hands clasped between us now. “Nothing about you is convenient. You challenge everything I thought I knew. You saw parts of me I'd forgotten existed. You made my family's legacy feel like a gift instead of a burden.”
I step closer and suddenly I understand why people say 'falling'—it's exactly this vertigo, this sweet surrender to gravity.
“This could ruin everything,” I whisper.
“What if it doesn't?” His forehead touches mine. “Holly?—”
“Your family events, my work with the foundation?—”
“Are excuses.” His breath skims my cheek. “Tell me you don't feel this.”
“I—” My entire vocabulary reduces to three words on repeat: closer, more, please.
“I can't.”
“Then stop arguing with me,” he says.
“I'm not arguing.”
He lifts our joined hands, presses them against his chest. I can feel his heart racing under my palms.
“Not anymore,” he says.
I lean forward and kiss him.
I’m hyperaware and utterly lost at the same time—like my consciousness has split between memorizing every second and forgetting my own name. His lips are soft, almost still. Then I press closer and everything changes. He releases my hands to reach up and frame my face.
Oh. Oh, this is what I’ve been wanting.
EVAN
She kisses me and for one second, I’m too stunned to move.
