The tightness in my chest gives. I don’t ask any questions about what he’s doing back here. I just take a step closer to him.
“I was gonna come find you,” I admit.
His jaw clenches, as though that matters more than he’s willing to say. “Really?”
I nod. I don’t move right away. I just stand there, looking at him, the air between us charged.
All I can think about is what it would be like to kiss him.
My gaze flicks to his mouth, then back to his eyes, and something there catches me. It’s not hesitation, but a flicker ofuncertainty—like he wants to kiss me too, but doesn’t want to misread it and have me pull away.
So I close the distance between us, keeping my gaze locked on his lips so he knows exactly what’s coming.
The kiss knocks the air out of me.
Not because it’s rushed or frantic, but because it isn’t. Because the second our mouths meet, everything settles into place. Like he’s been holding himself back since the moment we first met, and now we’ve stopped pretending.
Like he’s done forcing himself to stay behind that line too.
His hand slides across my jaw, commanding and warm, grounding me as the world around us fades away. His other hand grips my waist, holding me against him instead of caging me.
I can feel the heat radiating off him.
I lean into him without hesitation. My hands find the front of his shirt, and I let my fingers trace the firm muscle beneath the material. The low growl he makes in his throat when the kiss deepens steals my breath.
Nothing else at this moment exists.
He pulls away, just enough to look me in the eye. His forehead rests against mine, his eyes dark and searching, as if he needs to make sure I’m still here with him.
“You don’t make things easy, ya know that?” he murmurs.
I huff out a breathless laugh. “Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you.”
His thumb brushes across my jaw.
“We should probably talk,” I say, even though my body argues against the idea.
His mouth quirks. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
I hesitate, then hook my fingers into the front of his shirt, tugging lightly. “Come upstairs with me. I don’t want to do this here.”
He studies my face for hesitation. Whatever he’s looking for, he doesn’t find. He nods once. “Okay.”
We quietly walk outside and up the stairs. I unlock the door and flick on the light, realizing at the last minute I should’ve done a better job of picking up over the past few days. It’s kind of hard, though, when your entire place is one large room.
I set my purse down and turn to face him, forcing myself to exhale. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About me staying somewhere else.”
His shoulders instantly tense. “Brin—”
“I know,” I cut in gently. “I know you didn’t want to push it.”
“I didn’t,” he admits. “I just… I don’t like the idea of you being here alone. But I also don’t want you to feel like I’m pressuring you either.”
My body relaxes, and I nod.
“I don’t want to rely on you,” I say quietly. “Or for you to feel like I’m taking advantage of you or your family.”
His brows furrow. “You wouldn’t be. I’m the one offering.”
