The fire pops, settling into embers. Outside, wind brushes the cabin walls. Inside, everything feels suddenly fragile.
“Wren—” I start, then stop. Try again. “There’s something I need to tell you. You deserve to know before?—”
“Before what?” Her eyes search mine, open and unguarded.
Before I touch you.
Before I let this go any further.
The truth crowds my throat.
“About why I—” My voice stalls. Every word piles up behind my teeth. I can’t force it out. Not when she’s looking at me like this. “About us,” I manage. “About how this started.”
“The fake dating?” She lets out a soft, self-conscious laugh. “It was stupid anyway. We don’t have to keep it up. It’s not really working. And I…” She hesitates, color rising along her throat. “I don’t think I’m interested in Theo anymore.”
My heart stumbles hard.
The thought hits fast and reckless:Is that because of me?
I don’t let myself finish it. Don’t let it turn into hope or entitlement or the kind of assumption that ruins everything.
But she’s sitting there with that shy flush, knees drawn to her chest, fingers worrying the hem of her hoodielike she’s bracing for something she wants and doesn’t quite trust.
I can’t pretend I don’t feel the pull. The way the air between us tightens, waiting to see what I’ll do.
I lean forward before I mean to. Just enough to feel the space between us thin, charged, magnetic. My body already knows where this is going; my head is the only thing lagging behind.
Tell her.
Tell her now.
The warning flickers and then gets drowned out by the way her breath catches when I move closer.
My hand lifts. Slow. Careful. I give her every chance to stop me.
My fingers brush the cotton at her waist.
She leans in that fraction of an inch that tells me everything.
My restraint snaps.
“Wren,” I breathe. “C’mere.”
Her gaze catches mine and holds. The air thickens, charged and close. Every muscle in me pulls toward her.
Slowly, she slides down from the arm of the couch and settles beside me. Our knees touch, as if the contact had its own pulse. We both stare at the point where we meet, neither of us moving.
“Closer, baby,” I murmur, my voice gravel.
The endearment slips out before I can stop it. For a heartbeat, I brace for her to laugh, to call me arrogant, to remind me we’re nothing to each other.
Instead, “Wait…what? Why?”
I raise an eyebrow, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “Just come.”
Slowly, I reach for her waist. She could push me away,leave, and I’d deserve it. But she doesn’t. My hands find the curve of her hips, guiding her onto my thigh until she’s sitting across me, her legs draped over mine.
Her weight settles against me—warm, tentative, impossibly right. For a second, neither of us breathes. I lower my head to her neck, feeling the beat beneath her skin, and inhale the faint scent of soap and lavender.
