That’s what makes me drop his gaze and study his bedspread as I continue listening.
This song. It’s me. All the messy, chaotic parts of me I’ve tried to hide or downplay.
He sees me.
Every bit of me, even the parts I thought weren’t worth noticing.
FOURTEEN
God, he’s good.
Too good. He could’ve been a musician instead of a mentalist, and the world would’ve been better for it. And yet, I’m selfishly glad he’s here, in this room, singing only for me.
When the song ends, the final notes linger in the air like a promise, and I raise my gaze to meet Koen’s, finding his expression soft and unguarded. The way he looks at me makes my stomach tighten like he sees something I don’t.
But what’s new?
“You’re amazing,” I manage to press out once the music fades, the tension left between us only growing stronger in its absence.
He sets the guitar down carefully beside him without breaking my gaze. Then he stands from his chair, rests his knee on the bed in front of me, and cups my cheek, pulling a small gasp from me. His thumb traces a slow path along my skin like he’s memorizing me or afraid I could slip away one day.
Which is accurate. That thought, paired with the intimacy of the moment, makes my throat close up, and it suddenly feels hard to draw breath. I don’t know what to do with tenderness like this.
The space between us is charged with possibility as his thumb once more brushes against my skin in that perfect way that makes me melt.
“You’re really good,” I whisper, speaking that truth again with a small smile curving my lips because I know he already knows.
His lips twitch, his touch remains impossibly gentle, and my heart stutters, sensing the danger. His care might unravel me faster than any roughness ever could. But I don’t balk as he continues to watch me like he’s trying to drink in every part of me or memorize every second of this moment between us.
And I gladly let him.
No walls. No hesitation. Just this. Us.
“Do you know my favorite thing about human physiology?”
“What?” I reach up to cover his hand with mine.
“How our eyes change when we look at someone we’re in love with,” he answers softly as his gaze roams over my face, tracing my features. “Our pupils dilate, like they do in the dark, trying to let in more light.”
Love.The word hovers between us, but it doesn’t send me into a panic. Instead, it settles over me like something inevitable, something true.
His gaze travels slowly up my face, then, like a soft stroke, our eyes lock. His pupils expand. I watch in fascination, my lips parting at the silent confession that’s written in the way he looks at me.
I hold my breath, frozen in the moment as my mind races.
Did my eyes do the same? Can he tell what I’m feeling?
Of course, he can.He always has.
His thumb trails a path to my bottom lip, lingering there, and the faintest shiver races up my spine, unfreezing my body. He clocks the change, something like approval in his gaze as he smiles softly at me.
One more ghost swipe of his thumb across my lips unlocks my body entirely, and I lift onto my knees and try to surge toward him, but he slows me gently with his hands on my face before I can get close enough for our lips to touch.
“And we blink less,” he murmurs. “Just to make the moment last longer…”
I swear time slows as his fingers curl against my jaw and tilt my face up just before he brushes his lips against mine in a tentative caress that feels like a question.
Yes. My mind, body, and soul agree. The only answer is yes. Yes, to all of it.
