“It meant something to me too.”
The words come out quiet, but they’re true all the way through.
Something shifts in his expression. Not surprise exactly. More like relief he was trying hard not to need.
I push on before I lose my nerve.
“I know this is fast,” I say. “And maybe it is a little crazy. But... nothing about this feels wrong to me.”
His hand on my thigh tightens.
“I don’t want it to be just one night either.”
That gets his full attention.
The air between us goes thick and still.
I wet my lips. “And if I stayed... it wouldn’t just be because of you.”
One dark brow lifts slightly.
Which, wow, does unfair things to me in the morning too.
“I mean,” I say, scrambling a little, “obviously you are a very compelling argument. Extremely compelling. Distractingly compelling. But that’s not the point.”
His mouth twitches.
I take a breath.
“The point is... I don’t think I even wanted that life anymore.”
“What life?”
“The waiting one.”
He stays quiet, letting me find it.
So I do.
“The waiting to be noticed. Waiting to be picked. Waiting for someone at a magazine to decide I’m good enough to write something that matters.” My fingers twist in the blanket. “I kept telling myself that if I just worked hard enough and stayed useful enough and helpful enough, eventually I’d get my chance.”
Weston’s eyes don’t leave my face.
“But I was building someone else’s dream,” I say softly. “Not mine.”
Something opens in my chest as I say it.
A truth I think I’ve known for a while but have been too scared to touch.
“What’s yours?” he asks.
The question settles over me.
Simple.
Honest.
Dangerous in the best way.
