"I know." I smiled despite myself. "I'm not ready."
"You'll be great."
The words were simple, but something in his voice made my chest ache.
We left the room, pulling the door mostly closedbehind us. And then we were in the living room, and there was nowhere else to go, nothing else to do.
Cal sat on the couch. So did I, leaving a careful distance between us.
The space hummed with everything we weren't saying. I was aware of every inch that separated us, the deliberate gap we were both maintaining. The ghost of his touch still lingered on my jaw, my waist and I could still feel where his lips had brushed mine.
Cal stared straight ahead at the dark TV while I stared at my hands
The silence stretched, becoming stiflingly uncomfortable, heavy with too many things.
"Lucy—"
"It's fine," I answered quickly. "We don't have to talk about it."
"It wasn't nothing."
I looked at him. His jaw was tight, his hands clasped between his knees.
"It wasn't nothing," he repeated, quieter. "And we both know it."
My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat.
"I know," I whispered.
He turned to look at me. There was something tortured in his expression, something I didn't understand.
"There are things I should tell you," he admitted. "Things you don't know."
"What things?"
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Shook his head.
"Not tonight. I can't—" He stood abruptly, ran a hand through his hair. "I should go. I need to think."
"Cal—"
"I'm sorry." He was already moving toward the door. "I'm sorry, I just—I need to go."
I followed him, not knowing what else to do. My mind was racing, trying to understand what had just happened, what had changed.
He paused with his hand on the knob. Turned to look at me.
The air between us crackled. I could see it in his eyes, everything he wasn’t saying: the way his want and desire were wrestling with fear and guilt. I could feel the sheer weight of whatever was holding him back.
"There's nothing you could tell me that would change how I feel." The words came out before I could stop them.
Something flickered across his face. I couldn't tell if it was pain or hope. My mind had stopped working properly.
"You don't know that."
"I do."
He stayed silent, his eyes memorizing mine before he finally moved. When his hand cupped my face, I felt the slight tremor in his fingers again, the same one that had betrayed him before. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead, a gesture so reverent it made my throat ache. It was tender, careful, and heavy with everything we couldn't say. Itwasn't a surrender; it was a promise to hold on, even if the timing was all wrong.
