"You're not a mistake, Maya. You're not a cautionary tale. You're proof that people can survive anything and still be good. Still be soft. Still be worth knowing." His thumb traced across my knuckles. "Anyone who can't see that isn't worth your time."
I didn’t trust my voice. I turned my hand over, laced my fingers through his, and held on.
We walked back to my building.
The city was quiet, that particular hush that falls over Queens on a Friday night, when the restaurants have closed, and the streets belong to couples walking slowly, unwilling to let the evening end.
Somewhere around the third block, Shane reached for my hand.
Simple. Natural. As if he hadn’t even thought about it. His fingers slid between mine, warm and sure, and I didn't pull away.
We didn't talk. We didn't need to. The silence was comfortable, full of everything we’d said over dinner—and everything we hadn’t.
At my building, we stopped. The hallway was dim, the buzzing fluorescent light casting everything in a pale yellow glow. Shane turned to face me.
"Thank you," I said. "For tonight. For... all of it."
"Thank you for coming."
We stood there. Close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in his blue eyes. Close enough that I could smell him, soap and something warm underneath.
He stepped closer.
My breath caught.
I thought he might kiss me. I wanted him to, I realized. I wanted it more than I'd wanted anything in a long time.
But he didn't.
Instead, he leaned in and pressed his cheek to mine. Warm. Brief. Deliberate. His jaw was rough with stubble, and I felt it against my skin, felt his breath near my ear. His hand came up to the back of my head, cradling it gently. Holding me there a second longer than necessary.
Then he pulled back. Looked at me with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"Goodnight, Maya."
He was gone before I could answer.
I stood there for a moment, then turned and walked slowly to the elevator. Each step gave me time to replay the night. Rosa's knowing smile. The way Shane had shut down Brittany without a second thought. The candlelight flickered across his face as he listened to me spill thirteen years of hurt onto the red-checkered tablecloth. His thumb traced my knuckles.
His voice was steady and certain.
‘You're proof that people can survive anything and still be good.’
And then, at the door. The press of his cheek against mine. The roughness of his stubble. The weight of his hand cradling the back of my head like I was something precious. The steadiness of his breath near my ear.
He didn't kiss me. Not really.
But standing in my doorway, fingers pressed to my cheek where his skin had touched mine, I realized it didn't matter.
I was falling for Shane Briggs. And I had no idea how to stop.
CHAPTER 9
Shane
I wanted to kiss her.
It had been three days since the restaurant. Three days since I'd watched her face soften in the candlelight as Rosa fussed over us. Three days since she'd told me everything, her voice steady even when the words weren't, and I'd watched thirteen years of hurt spill out across the red-checkered tablecloth.
