The air between us thickens, heavy enough to make my pulse stumble. He picks up the fork, cuts into one of the pancakes, and holds it out to me, syrup glistening along the edge.
I lean in and take the bite, humming around the sweet taste. A drop of warm syrup falls and lands on my chest.
“What?” I ask, smiling despite the heat rushing up my neck.
Clay’s eyes shift to my chest once more before he swipes the fork over my nipple.
“Nothing.” His voice drops lower. “You missed a spot.”
His thumb swipes over the syrup before smearing it over my nipple. He stares into my eyes as he leans in, swiping his tongue over the tight bud. My breath hitches, and the tray wobbles between us, as a low moan escapes my mouth.
“Clay,” I exhale his name on a sigh.
His thumb traces the curve of my jaw, catching another trace of syrup at the corner of my mouth. He could stop there, but he doesn’t. His hand stays, his thumb grazing my skin before his lips replace it. The kiss is slow, tasting like warmth and sugar, like something we both know we shouldn’t want but do anyway.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against mine for a beat, both of us caught in the quiet we’ve created. His breath skims my cheek, as if he’s trying to convince himself this isn’t what it feels like. It’s something more than it should be.
He leans back and watches me finish the rest, the room quiet except for the faint scrape of my fork. His eyes stay on me, tracking every slow bite, every time I drag my tongue across my lip to catch the syrup. The weight of his stare coils heat low in my stomach until I can barely breathe.
When I set the fork down, he reaches out, takes the tray from my lap, and sets it aside.
“C’mon,” he murmurs, standing. “You’re a mess. Let me run you a bath before we hit the road.”
He lifts me easily, carrying me into the bathroom. The air is cool, his bare feet quiet against the tile as he leans over the tub. Water pours from the faucet, and the steam rises into the morning light.
“Relax,” he says, glancing back at me. “I’ll take care of everything else.”
There’s a gentleness in his voice that stings, like he’s trying to hold on to this before it’s gone.
When he leaves, the quiet hums around me. I sink into the bath and close my eyes, the warmth wrapping around me until all I can think about is him—the way he looked at me like he wanted to stay, even as I can feel him slipping away.
By the time I’m dressed and packed, he’s by the door with his duffel slung over his shoulder. His shirt is buttoned to the collar, his jaw set tight. He looks like a man already bracing for goodbye.
“The roads should be better today,” he says finally, voice low. “Plows came through the main stretch. We’ll make it in time for Christmas Eve dinner.”
It’s not what I wanted him to say, not after last night. But I nod anyway. “Good.”
Cold air stings my face as we step outside. The hard and slick snow glitters in the sunlight. I pull my coat tight as my feet crunch across the ice.
“Careful,” he starts to say, but the warning comes too late. My foot slides, and the world starts to tilt.
“Clay—”
He’s there before I can hit the ground, his hands catching my arms and pulling me against his chest. The shock knocks the breath out of me, a startled laugh slipping past my lips.
“Some things don’t change,” I murmur. “Still the same girl who can’t stay on her feet. Still needing you to catch me.”
His fingers tighten around me, a faint smile tugging at his mouth even as the color drains from his face. For a split second, I see something flicker there, a mix of panic and fear, before he blinks it away.
“You okay?” The words drag like sandpaper.
“Yeah.” My pulse continues to race. “Thanks for catching me.”
He exhales, his breath fogging between us. “Always will,” he mutters, almost too quiet to hear.
His fingers flex once before he lets go, his jaw tightening like he’s forcing himself to step back.
“Let’s go,” he mumbles, nodding toward the car.
