“I did,” he says simply.
I glance down at my mug. “It’s strange, though.”
“How?”
“I’ve been in this house a several times. Kitchen. Living room. Maddie’s room. But closing that door tonight felt different. Like I wasn’t a visitor anymore.”
“You’re not,” he says immediately.
The certainty in his voice makes my pulse jump.
“I know what this looks like,” he continues. “Fast. Impulsive. But I didn’t throw you into that room as an afterthought. I wanted you to have your own space. Not because I don’t want you near me.” He pauses. “Because I do.”
The air tightens again.
“And because you deserve to come into this house on your terms.”
I swallow.
“That’s very evolved of you,” I manage.
He snorts softly. “Don’t ruin it.”
I laugh under my breath.
He leans his hip against the counter. “You nervous?”
“About what?”
“Tomorrow. The day after. Waking up and realizing this wasn’t a dream.”
“A little,” I admit. “Mason is going to interrogate me like I joined a cult.”
“I’ll handle Mason.”
“I don’t need you to handle him.”
“I know.” His mouth curves faintly. “But I will.”
That shouldn’t feel reassuring, but it does.
He studies me for another long second. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to prove anything in this house. Not to Maddie. Not to me.”
“That’s the thing,” I say quietly. “I don’t feel like I have to. That’s what’s throwing me.”
He goes still.
“I thought I’d walk in here and feel pressure. Or doubt. Or second thoughts.” I shake my head. “I just feel… like I’m where I’m supposed to be.”
Something shifts in his eyes at that. Not surprise. Not triumph.
Relief.
“That’s how it feels to me too,” he says.
The honesty in it lands deeper than the kiss did.
We hold each other’s gaze for a few seconds.
