Not teasing this time.
Not playful.
Something… gentler.
“You overthink everything,” she says.
I let out a breath, a quiet laugh. “That obvious?”
“Very.”
“Good,” I mutter. “At least I’m consistent.”
She laughs—soft, warm—and it hits me harder than it should. There’s something about hearing it like this, not from a kid running around the house, but from the woman standing in front of me.
It makes everything feel… different.
I shake my head again, like I can knock some sense into myself. “Your dad would kill me if he saw me in here right now.”
“That’s dramatic.”
“Not really.”
She tilts her head. “You’re not doing anything wrong.”
I let out a low breath. “Feels like I am.”
“Then leave.”
She says it simply. Like it’s easy. Like I haven’t been trying to do exactly that for the past five minutes. I glance at the door again. Then back at her.
She’s still here. Still not moving away. And neither am I.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I probably should.”
But I don’t. Another beat passes.
And then—She steps closer. There’s no space between us now. None. My breath catches, just slightly, as her hand lifts—hesitant for half a second—before resting lightly against my chest.
It’s barely anything.
Just the soft press of her palm. But it might as well be a spark straight to my bloodstream.
“Willow—” I start.
I don’t get any further. Because she rises onto her toes?—
And kisses me.
It’s gentle. Careful. Like she’s giving me every chance in the world to stop it. But I don’t. I can’t.
The second her lips touch mine, something ignites. It’s not explosive—not at first. It’s warmer than that.
A slow, spreading heat that starts where we meet and sinks deep into my chest, into my lungs, into every place I’ve been trying to keep locked down.
Her lips are soft.
Uncertain for just a second—Then a little more sure.
