“They’re gone.”
Before I can respond, he steps away.
My heart sinks.
He murmurs something to Harper I can’t hear, then crosses back to me and takes my hand.
“Come with me.”
He pulls me down the hallway, past startled staff, into our bedroom, closing the door behind.
The quiet is immediate.
He crouches in front of me and gently removes my heels, tossing them aside like they aren't something ridiculously expensive.
Then he stands and pulls me into the bathroom. He guides me to the counter and reaches up and carefully loosens my hair. His fingers work quickly, but gently as he pulls out hidden pins. The bun collapses, waves spilling around me.
My breath stutters.
He moves quietly, grabbing a washcloth and running under the water until he seems content.
When he is back in front of me he pauses, holding it between us.
His eyes search mine.
Asking.
I nod.
He steps closer, so close I can feel the heat of him, and gently begins wiping away my face makeup. Slow. Reverent. Like this matters.
My freckles reappear beneath his touch.
“There you are,” he says softly. “That’s better.”
People talk about moments in life. But I hadn't understood, not romantically, until then.
I expect him to step back, but he doesn’t.
Instead, he lifts my chin with two fingers, tilting my face up.
His eyes darken.
This is the moment, I think.
The moment everything could tip.
His thumb brushes my jaw.
His breathing changes.
And then...
He kisses me.
Soft at first. Questioning. Like he’s bracing for me to pull away.
But I don’t.
