By the time Steph emerges from the bathroom—hair damp, wearing jeans and a soft baby pink that makes her eyes look impossibly blue—I've built a small army of protection around her.
"Coffee's cold," I say, nodding toward her abandoned mug.
"That's okay. I can—" She stops, staring at the fresh mug I've already poured and set on the counter. "You made me another one."
"Yeah."
She picks it up, and I watch her take a sip. Then she pauses, looking down at the mug with an expression I can't quite read.
"What?" I ask.
"You put sugar in it." Her voice is soft. "The right amount. Without asking."
Heat crawls up the back of my neck. "I've been watching you make coffee for months, Steph. I know how you take it."
"I know." She sets the mug down and crosses to the counter where my coffee sits. "Black, no sugar. But you put one ice cube in it when it's fresh because you hate burning your tongue."
I freeze.
She's been paying attention to me.
The same way I've been paying attention to her.
"Steph—"
"I see you too, Kevin." Her eyes meet mine, and there's something vulnerable in them. Something brave. "I know you think you're the only one watching, but I've been watching you too. The way you check the exits whenever you walk into a room. How you always position yourself between me and the door at the bar. How you tap your fingers on your thigh when you're trying to stay calm." She pauses. "How you look at me like I'm something worth waiting for."
My heart hammers against my ribs. "You are worth waiting for."
"What if I'm tired of making you wait?"
The words hang in the air between us, loaded with possibility.
I take a step toward her. Then another. Until we're close enough that I can see the pulse hammering in her throat, the way her breath has gone shallow.
"Steph," I say, my voice rough. "If we do this, I need you to be sure. Because once I touch you the way I've been dreaming about, I won’t be able to pretend this is fake anymore. I told you this."
"It's never been fake for me either," she whispers. "Not really."
I reach up slowly, giving her every chance to pull away, and cup her face in my hands. Her skin is soft and warm. She leans into my touch, eyes fluttering closed.
"Tell me what you want," I say.
"I want—"
A sharp knock at the door makes us both jump.
Steph's eyes fly open, and I drop my hand, instantly on alert.
"Steph!" Lottie's voice carries through the door. "I know you're in there! I brought banana bread!"
Steph drops her forehead against my chest with a groan. "I'm going to kill her."
Despite everything—the tension, the frustration, the moment we just lost—I laugh. "She means well."
"She has terrible timing."
"Yeah." I press a kiss to the top of her head, unable to help myself. "She really does."
