My hand actually trembles on the handle.
And when the latch clicks, the air shifts.
It’s just us.
No sound. No witnesses. No excuses.
“Come here,” he says.
I do.
Because I can’t not.
JAXON
She’s nervous today.
More nervous than before.
But she’s not running.
She walks toward me softly, cautiously, every step like a confession she’s not ready to say out loud.
Her hair is tucked behind one ear. Her blouse is fitted. She smells warm and sweet and faintly floral.
Beautiful.
I gesture to the chair next to mine again, but I don’t sit.
I watch her.
She sits slowly.
Her breath hitches.
Good.
I move closer.
Not touching, not yet, but close enough that her knee brushes mine under the desk.
She jolts.
I smile.
“Did you sleep?” I ask.
She swallows. “Not much.”
“Why?”
Her gaze flicks away. “I… I was thinking.”
My voice drops. “About yesterday?”
Her silence tells me everything.
I reach out, slowly, carefully, until my fingers brush her wrist. She inhales sharply.
