He actually laughs at that. “And then?” he presses.
“And then,” I say softly, “you ask for my number.”
He studies me.
“I don’t think I would,” he says.
“Why not?”
“I’d assume you’d say no.”
I shake my head.
“In this version,” I tell him, “I don’t.”
Silence settles between us again. But this time it’s warm.
“You’d deserve someone normal,” he says quietly.
“I don’t want normal,” I reply. “I want you,”
The room feels like it’s holding its breath.
I slide off the desk and straddle his lap. My hands rest lightly on his shoulders.
His hands slide up to cradle my face, thumbs brushing along my cheekbones like he’s memorizing me.
“You love me?” he says, like he’s testing how it sounds.
“I do.”
He exhales like something inside him just broke loose.
“If we were normal,” he murmurs, “I would’ve taken you on three dates before admitting that.”
I laugh softly. “That’s way too soon.”
His forehead rests against mine. “I love you,” he says again.
This time it doesn’t sound like a confession. It sounds like a choice.
His mouth finds mine. The kiss isn’t rushed or desperate. Just slow and certain. The kind of kiss that feels like the first one in a life that might actually stretch forward instead of collapsing in on itself.
His hands tighten at my waist.
For once, there’s no blood in the air.
No storm.
No ghosts of his father standing between us.
Just us.
When we pull back, he brushes his thumb along my lower lip.
“Coffee shop,” he murmurs.
“Yeah?”
