His eyes lift and stay on me.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” Erin calls without turning. “Coffee?”
“Please.” My voice sounds calm. My body is anything but.
I step to the counter. Kieran gives me space measured in inches, not feet. Our shoulders brush; current ripples under my skin.
“Sleep okay?” he asks, pitched low, steel blue and steady in my head.
“Yes.” I reach for a mug. “You?”
“Not really.” A slow, crooked smile. “Couldn’t stop thinking.”
About the kiss. He means the kiss.
My face warms. I focus on the coffee. His palm settles at my lower back, casual and certain, and heat unspools through my abdomen. This isn’t campus theater or leverage with Theo. This is a claim made in front of his siblings and friends.
“Eggs are ready,” Nate says, scraping the skillet. “No pancakes. We promised Coach we’d be good. Sweet potatoes for everybody.”
Jessica groans. “Just close your eyes and pretend it’s a waffle.”
I carry plates to the table. He follows, close enough that I feel the temperature of his skin through cotton. When I reach for silverware, his hand covers mine, a light, deliberate touch before he lets go.
“You okay?” he murmurs.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
He only says, “No reason,” but his focus tracks me, darker than I’ve seen, a deep cerulean rather than the bright ice blue that hijacks BU’s social feeds. I glance away to make the room stop buzzing.
We sit. I end up between Kieran and Sophie. Under the table his knee rests against mine. When I shift, he follows, maintaining contact with quiet precision.
Heat gathers low in my belly. Every point of contact magnifies—the brush of his thumb at my wrist when he passes water, the brief weight of his hand on my shoulder when he reaches for salt. My body reads these touches as instructions.
“So,” Jessica says, cheerful and sharp-eyed, “everyone sleep well?”
Smiles move around the table. I concentrate on eggs.
“Not too bad,” Kieran says. “Couch was comfortable.”
“I bet it was,” Dmitri rumbles, unhelpful and amused.
“Stop that,” Sophie grinds out, nudging him.
“We’re just being friendly,” Erin replies, eyes bright with mischief.
Kieran’s hand slides to my thigh beneath the table. My breath snags. He keeps eating, unbothered, while my lungs try to remember how air works.
Is something wrong with me? Why does my skin feel two sizes too small? Do people forget how to breathe from…this? Is that a thing? Should I ask someone to call an ambulance?
Except I don’t feel faint.
I feel…
God.
Awareness spreads in a slow wave that scrambles my thoughts. A slick, insistent ache that absolutely does not belong at a breakfast table.
“We’re thinking of doing a hike before we head out,” Liam announces. “There’s a trail that loops to a viewpoint. Takes about two hours.”
