I glance down at the sandwiches, lips twitching. “To be fair, I couldn’t have done better.” My fingers slip through his hair, pushing it off his forehead in a soft, lazy motion. “Actually… I wouldn’t have even tried.”
His hand finds mine, stops it in its path, and slowly guides it down, settling it right over his heart. The beat thrums beneath my palm like a secret he’s letting me feel. Like trust made tangible.
He doesn’t let go.
“I don’t doubt that,” he says, but there’s something quieter in his voice now. A softness that catches me off guard.
The silence between us stretches, comfortable, but full. He shifts closer. My hand still rests against his chest, and I can feel the way his breath changes. Slower. Deeper. The moment drapes over us like silk, light and fragile. I don’t move. Neither does he.
I look at him, at the tilt of his face, the shape of his mouth. My eyes fall to his lips, and this time, I know I’m not hiding it. I know he feels the way the air has changed.
His head turns, just slightly, toward me.
And we’re close.
Gods. We’reclose.
The space between us feels thinner than breath.
I don’t know who moves first. I only know that suddenly his hand tightens around mine, just slightly, a silent question pressed into my palm. My thumb shifts where it rests over his heart, feeling the steady rhythm there, and something in my chest gives way.
Theo tilts his head, careful and unhurried, as though he’s afraid of startling me. His mouth is warm when it brushes mine, barely there at first, a kiss that feels like it’s asking permission even as it happens.
I freeze.
Not because I don’t want it.
Because I do.
So badly it hurts.
His lips linger, patient, waiting for me to decide. The restraint in him is palpable, woven into every second of hesitation. I can feel the tremor in his breath, the way his body holds itself back even as his mouth stays close to mine, hovering like he’s afraid this might vanish if he presses too hard.
I exhale, slow and shaky, and lean in.
The kiss deepens, just slightly. Still gentle. Still careful. But real now. His lips soften against mine, fitting like they were always meant to be here. There’s no rush, no hunger yet, just a quietrightnessthat spreads through me and settles low in my chest.
Theo makes a soft sound when I respond, barely more than a breath, and his hand lifts instinctively to my wrist, fingers wrapping around it as if to anchor himself. I feel the way his pulse spikes beneath my touch, the way his chest rises more sharply beneath my palm.
The world narrows.
The flowers sway. The breeze carries warmth instead of chill. Somewhere far away, something calls out, but it doesn’t reach us here. We’re wrapped in sunlight and petals and the fragile magic of a moment that feels too important to rush.
He pulls back first, just an inch, forehead resting against mine.
“I’m not imagining this, am I?” he asks quietly.
“No,” I whisper. My voice is unsteady, but the truth isn’t. “You’re not.”
His smile is small, almost disbelieving. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because I don’t think I could pretend it didn’t happen.”
His thumb brushes my wrist, slow and grounding, tracing the faint outline of veins beneath my skin. The touch is intimate in a way that makes my stomach flip.
“I don’t want this to be something we rush,” he continues softly. “I don’t want to take something from you you’re not ready to give.”
I swallow, my forehead still pressed to his. “I don’t feel taken.”
He exhales, long and slow, like the words eased something tight in him. “Neither do I.”
