I rolled my eyes. “I was curious.”
“You were jealous.”
“I was evaluating.”
His mouth curved slightly. “You were jealous.”
I exhaled, giving in. “Fine. Maybe a little.”
“Good.”
I blinked. “Good?”
“Yes.”
“That’s a strange response.”
“It’s an honest one.”
I shook my head, but I couldn’t quite stop the faint smile that pulled at my mouth.
“You’re impossible.”
“I’ve been told.”
The air between us felt different again.
Less sharp.
More … grounded.
We stepped outside a few minutes later, the cold biting at my skin as we made our way to the car, the snow crunching underfoot.
As he drove, the landscape slowly shifting around us, I watched him in the quiet moments between conversation—the steady way he handled the road, the ease in his posture, the absence of anything unnecessary.
“So,” I said after a while. “Charleston.”
“Yes.”
“You’re serious.”
“I am.”
“And I’m staying with you?”
He glanced at me briefly. “If you want to.”
“That’s not what you said last night.”
“No,” he agreed. “It’s not.”
I studied him. “What changed?”
“You did.”
That settled deeper than I expected.
“And your place?” I asked. “Downtown?”
