I stop a breath away. Close enough to feel her warmth, close enough to see the way her chest rises. “I’m done holding back.”
Her fingers curl into the hem of her shirt like she needs something to anchor her.
“You’re sure?” she asks quietly.
“No,” I answer honestly.
Her brows lift.
“But I’m choosing you anyway.”
That lands. I see it in her face — that shift from playful to something deeper. Her gaze drops briefly to my mouth. When it lifts again, it’s steady.
“Then don’t treat me like something fragile.”
I reach up and slide my hand into her hair, thumb brushing the side of her neck.
“I’ve never thought you were fragile.”
“Good.”
“I’ve thought you were dangerous.”
A slow smile curves her lips. “Dangerous how?”
“You walk into my house and make it feel alive again.”
“That’s not dangerous.”
“It is when you’re a man who forgot how to live.”
The words hang between us.
She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pity.
She steps closer.
“I never wanted to replace anything,” she says softly.
“I know.”
“I don’t want to erase her.”
“You don’t.”
“You don’t have to choose between loving her and loving me.”
My chest tightens.
“You make it sound simple.”
“It’s not simple,” she says. “It’s brave.”
My hand slides from her hair down her back, resting at her waist. “You think I’m brave?”
“I think you run into burning buildings for strangers.”
“That’s different.”
