“What do you think of these two?” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “The green one is calledRiverdale, and then the cream accent color is Polar Bear.
“I like them. You’ve got good taste.”
The compliment shouldn’t have made her stomach flip. But it did. “Thanks.”
“Any time.”
He held her gaze for a second longer than necessary, something thoughtful passing between them—quiet, steady, and unhurried. Then he nodded once, as if tucking her offer away somewhere he planned to revisit.
They left the unfinished house together, locking up while the late-afternoon sun painted long lines across the porch. Neither of them said much on the walk to their cars, but the silence wasn’t awkward. It was... expectant. Like both of them knew the day wasn’t over yet.
They made a quick stop for some takeout, and she followed him back to his condo.
When she stepped inside for the first time, the place was unmistakably him. Clean lines. Comfortable but not fussy. The kind of tidy that came from habit, not effort. A deep navy throw hung over the back of the couch, softening the otherwise simple living room. The walls were plain white, and she could instantly picture the place with a little color—warm grays, maybe a muted blue by the windows. Something lived-in. Something inviting.
A few framed photos sat on the shelvesflanking both sides of the TV—not many, but enough to sketch the outlines of his life. Brian, with his brothers, all three in sand-streaked clothes, squinting against the bright sun. Another of him and Dan on a fishing boat, each holding up a striped bass and looking proud in a way only family could make them. And one of a softball team, Rafe, at Brian’s left, both mid-laugh and dust-covered, probably from sliding into base or home plate.
Nothing staged. Nothing polished. Just pieces of a man who didn’t care much about decorating, but cared deeply about the people in his orbit.
She felt something loosen in her chest—something warm and unsettling and full.
“Welcome to my extremely white, extremely dull apartment,” Brian said with amusement as he set the takeout bags on the counter.
But she didn’t think it was dull at all. Not even close.
“I like it,” she said honestly, drifting toward the photos on the other side of the TV. Her fingers hovered just shy of the frames. “It feels like you.”
One picture drew her in—a sun-faded snapshot of Brian in his mid-teens, all long limbs and big grin, standing between two boys who had to be his brothers. A man and woman stood behind them, arms looped around all three boys, smiling like the photographer had said something ridiculous.
His family. The people who made him.
Something in her chest tightened—not painful, just... aware. This was a piece of his world he hadn’t shown her before, even unintentionally.
Brian came up beside her, close enough that his heat seeped into her arm. “That was taken about a year before my folks died.”
“They were a good-looking couple—happy. You were cute too,” she teased, then corrected herself with a smile. “Still are.”
Color touched his cheeks, faint but real. “I was a menace at that age.”
She believed it—but there was also a brightness in the boy’s eyes, the same spark she sometimes caught in the man standing next to her.
And she liked that more than she should.
“Tess...”
The sudden seriousness in his voice had her turning around to face him.
“I don’t want to rush anything,” he said carefully. “But I—” A soft exhale. “Being with you feels... good. Right. And I’m trying really damn hard not to be terrified of that.”
Her breath caught. That was exactly how she’d been feeling lately.
She stepped closer, fingers brushing his. “You’re not the only one who’s scared.”
He searched her face—slowly, gently, like he didn’t want to miss anything she wasn’t saying aloud. “But you’re here.”
“Yeah,” she whispered. “I’m here. So are you.”
His hand found her cheek, warm and steady, thumb brushing along her skin like he’d been wanting to do it all day. “Then maybe... we try. For real. Not halfway. Not pulling back the second it feels too good.”
