I step closer until there’s barely a breath between us. “You think I’m going anywhere?”
“You all do,” she whispers.
“I’m not ‘all of them.’”
Her chin lifts stubbornly. “You can’t promise that.”
“What if I want to?”
The air between us snaps, sharp as a wire pulled too tight. I can see every emotion flickering in her eyes—fear, anger, want.
“Stop trying to save me,” she says, quieter now, but no less fierce.
“I’m not trying to save you, Katie.” My voice drops, rough. “I just need you to let me in. You don’t have to protect yourself from me. I care about you and I’m not going to just up and leave one day.”
The words hang between us, sharp and heavy.
“What did you just say?” she asks.
I don’t crowd her or rush the moment. I take one slow step closer, enough that she can feel my presence without feeling trapped.
“I said I need you to let me in, Katie,” I say quietly. “I’m not asking you to hand me your whole heart. I’m asking you to stop locking the door every time I knock.”
Her eyes flicker, suspicion warring with something softer. “That’s not easy for me.”
“I know it’s not.” My eyes look into hers. “I see how hard you’ve worked to hold everything together. I’m not here to take that from you.”
She folds her arms, a reflex I recognize now. “Then what do you want?”
I don’t answer right away. I let the silence do some of the work.
“I want honesty,” I say finally. “I want you to tell me when you’re scared instead of pretending you’re fine. I want to be someone you lean on when things get heavy. That’s it.”
Her throat works. “And Evie?”
“That’s part of it,” I say without hesitation. “I’m not just here for you, I’m here for her too.”
She looks down at her hands, fingers worrying the edge of her cardigan. “Cam…that’s not a small thing.”
“I know.” I reach out slowly, giving her time to pull away. I take her hand, warm in mine. “That’s why I’m not throwing around promises. I’m just asking you to trust that I’m not disappearing the second things get hard.”
She breathes in, shaky. “I’ve done this alone for a long time.”
“I see that,” I say softly. “Your strength is one of the sexiest parts of you. But maybe you can let me help you carry the load.”
For a long moment, she just looks at me, like she’s measuring the risk. Then her hands press to my chest—not pushing me away, but grounding herself.
And then she kisses me.
It’s not careful. It’s not polite. It’s frustration and want colliding all at once, like she’s finally letting herself feel everything she’s been holding back. I catch her hips instinctively, backing heragainst the counter as she kisses me like she’s daring herself to fall. It’s messy and breathless and perfect.
When we break apart, her eyes are bright, lips swollen, breath uneven.
“I’m not good at letting people in,” she admits quietly.
“I know.”
“I’ve been hurt,” she continues. “And I’m too independent for my own good.”
