Before he can respond, the buzzer sounds—the photographer, right on cue. Vivienne’s “tiny crew.” The reminder jolts me slightly, pulling me back into the world of staged smiles and curated intimacy.
Max flashes me a look that says,Ready?I nod, smoothing Melody’s fur, but inside I’m bracing against the return of staged smiles.
Still, as Max lifts Melody and she drapes over his shoulder like a floppy scarf, I catch the unguarded softness in his expression. Cameras or not, that look is real. And the flutter it sets loose under my ribs tells me I might be in more trouble than I thought.
Gavin sets his camera on a tripod near the loft’s window wall. He adjusts the focus ring, then scans the room as if rearranging furniture in his head.
Melody already stars in the first few shots: curled like an upside-down comma in Max’s elbow while I hover a perfectly safe twelve inches away. Gavin lowers the camera, eyebrows rising.
“Looks great,” he says, voice easy, “but the apartment is giving mepersonal sanctuary.Let’s lean into that vibe—bring you two a little closer, show some natural affection. Nothing dramatic—just honest proximity.”
My pulse bumps.Natural affection.Max’s glance flicks to me, asking without words. I manage a nod before nerves can veto.
“It’s okay,” I say, finding a smile. “We can do that.”
Relief skims across Max’s features. Still holding Melody, he steps close enough that the heat from his body blurs the cool loft air. Gavin lifts the camera.
“Right, Max—arm around Nora’s waist. Nora, soften your shoulders toward him. Good.”
Max’s free hand finds the small of my back—warm, steady, impossibly gentle. My sweater is cashmere, but his palm is the softest thing I’ve felt all day. Heat spreads across my skin in widening circles. I breathe in cinnamon from the coffee he brewed, cedar from whatever aftershave he barely uses, and something salt-sweet that’s just him. My pulse is a butterfly pinned under glass.
“Eyes on each other,” Gavin coaches, tone gentle. “Pretend I’m not here—this is just you two on a quiet afternoon.”
I look up. At this range Max’s irises look less electric-stage blue and more morning-lake calm.
Max’s thumb traces a lazy half-moon at my waist, silent permission mixed with a question:okay?I answer by letting my hipsangle toward him, heart thudding until I’m sure he can feel it. Melody stretches, one tiny paw pressing into his chest, and Max shifts her weight with such care my throat tightens.
He tucks a stray curl behind my ear. The backs of his fingers skim my cheekbone; sparks ripple downward—jaw, throat, collarbone, each nerve lighting like a string of holiday bulbs. I tilt my face into the touch, and the shutter clicks like distant applause.
“Foreheads together,” Gavin calls softly.
Max leans in. The world slows to the space between our mouths: warm breath, the faintest brush of his lower lip against my upper as we adjust. His nose grazes mine, and a hum—part purr, part laugh—curls up from Melody as if she’s narrating our heartbeat. My eyelids flutter shut; the darkness behind them is bright with sensation.
“Beautiful,” Gavin whispers.
I feel Max’s whisper rather than hear it, his lips shaping the words against my skin: “Knock-knock.” Air stirs over my mouth, warm, coffee-sweet. My answering giggle trembles everywhere.
“Who’s there?” The question is barely sound.
“Kitten,” he breathes, pausing like a bassist holding tension in the measure. Then, softer: “Kitten who?”
“Kitten believe how fast my heart’s going right now.”
My laugh breaks free, breathless and real, and in that exact instant the camera shutter fires three rapid bursts. I’m sure Gavin has the shot—the one where my cheeks lift, Max’s grin blooms slow and helpless, and Melody’s crooked ear frames us like an accidental postage stamp.
But I hardly notice. Max’s forehead rests against mine, our noses still brushing, his thumb now tracing slow circles at the hollow where spine meets ribs. My entire body feels like a held note, waiting forthe downbeat. The air between our almost-kissing mouths is electric—every shared breath a dare.
“Perfect,” Gavin announces, voice distant, respectful. “I’m good if you are.”
I don’t pull away right away; neither does Max. Our eyes open at the same time, pupils wide, and for a heartbeat it’s just us, the kitten, and that charged hush after a song ends—before the applause, before thought.
Then Melody gives a drowsy chirp, and the spell lifts by half.
Max brushes his knuckle down my cheek as if cataloging fact from feeling. He just looks at me with earnest, blue eyes as if asking something. I just don’t know what the question is.
He clears his throat.
I swallow, too. My heart is still racing, but for the first time in days it feels like it’s racing toward something instead of away.
