I’m scared of what I’m becoming in this place.
I’m scared of wanting something.
I’m scared ofhim.
Not in the way I was scared when I knocked on the gate, half convinced I’d be murdered and buried under the snow with a cute little epitaph likeShe Died With Great Eyeliner.
No.
I’m scared because Gavin kissed me like it mattered.
And I let him.
I wanted it.
I wanted it so badly my body practically sprinted toward him while my brain tripped over its own shoelaces trying to keep up.
I sway with Aidan until his little body softens, the tension leaving his tiny fingers. His lashes flutter, and then he’s gone again—deep, baby sleep, the kind that feels like a miracle when you’ve spent days counting breaths and praying.
I keep rocking anyway, because my hands are trembling now and I need something to do with them besides reach for Gavin again.
He’s still near the couch, standing with his hands braced on the back cushion like he’s holding himself in place. His eyes follow me—steady, intense, and way too aware.
Like he’s trying to decide whether to give me space or close the distance.
Like he’s fighting something in himself.
That should make me feel better.
Instead, it makes me want to cry. Because I don’t know how to do this.
I don’t know how to be a woman who kisses a man and doesn’t fall apart afterward.
I don’t know how to be the kind of woman who knows what she wants.
I especially don’t know how to be the kind of woman a man like Gavin would want.
“Kayley,” he says quietly, voice rough.
I look up, and my throat tightens so fast it almost hurts.
He’s so—big.Not just physically. He takes up space like the world expects him to. Like danger makes room for him.
And his eyes… God. They’re not just blue. They’re the kind of blue that feels like truth. Like you couldn’t lie to him if you tried.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt.
His brow furrows. “For what?”
“For—” I gesture vaguely with my elbow while still cradling the sleeping baby. “For… that.”
His mouth twitches, but there’s no humor in it. “Don’t apologize.”
“I didn’t mean to— I mean, I wasn’t thinking. And now Iamthinking, which is worse, because—” I inhale shakily. “You shouldn’t be dealing with me like this. I’m a mess.”
He pushes off the couch and takes two slow steps toward me, careful, like he doesn’t want to spook me.
“You’re not a mess,” he says. “You’re a woman who’s been carrying too much by herself.”
