He closes his eyes briefly.
The silence hangs between us, thick and charged. He steps closer one last time, cupping my face gently.
“You scare me,” he says.
“Good.”
His lips twitch. “Not because you’re reckless,” he continues. “Because you matter.”
That undoes me more than the kiss.
“I don’t want to be a phase,” he says. “And I won’t let you be one.”
“I’m not asking to be.”
He exhales slowly. “You make me forget how broken I felt,” he murmurs. “You make this house feel… alive.”
“Then let it be alive.”
He rests his forehead against mine. “For tonight,” he says softly, “we stop here.”
My heart aches. “Because I’m too young?”
He brushes one last kiss against my temple. “Go to bed, Tessa.”
“You first.”
He smiles faintly. “Stubborn.”
“Always.”
We separate reluctantly. The air still hums with everything unsaid.
As I walk toward my room, my lips still tingling, I realize something dangerous:
He didn’t retreat because he doesn’t want me.
He retreated because he does.
Chapter 7
Sawyer
The photo falls face down.
It’s a stupid accident.
Lacee is running through the living room in socks, sliding across hardwood like she’s auditioning for an Olympic sport, and she bumps the side table with her hip. The frame tips. Glass cracks against the floor.
Silence drops heavy.
I’m across the room in two strides.
Tessa is already there.
She kneels before I can even process what’s happening, carefully lifting the broken frame.
“I’m so sorry,” Lacee blurts, frozen.
