Eventually, he pulls back enough to look at me.
Both his hands come up to frame my face, and his eyes search mine like he’s looking for any sign that I might disappear again.
“We okay?” he asks softly.
I don’t even have to think about it.
“Yeah, Gray,” I whisper. “We’re okay.”
The relief that moves through him is visible.
It’s the permission he was waiting for.
He leans in and kisses me.
It’s not rushed. Not desperate. Just deep and full and everywhere all at once. A kiss that tastes like apology and forgiveness and longing and the quiet certainty of finding your way back to someone who still feels like home when you get there.
It ends before it can become anything else, but just barely.
He rests his forehead against mine, breathing a little harder than before.
I smile, small and shaky. “I don’t want to do that again.”
One corner of his mouth lifts. “Which part?”
“Any of it.” I swallow. “But mostly the part where you were hurting and I couldn’t do anything about it because I was the one who caused it.”
He shakes his head immediately. “Harlow, you didn’t do something cruel. You needed time to process something hard. That’s not the same thing.”
“It still hurt you.”
“Yeah,” he admits. “It did.” His arm slides around my shoulders, drawing me against his side. “But I don’t blame you.”
I tilt my head to look at him. “No?”
A humorless breath leaves him. “I blame myself, honestly.”
My chest tightens. “Gray…”
He stares out at the path in front of us for a second before looking back at me.
“I kept thinking I should’ve told you sooner. Should’ve handled it better. Should’ve found a way to make it easier for you.” His jaw flexes. “And every hour I didn’t hear from you, I kept thinking maybe I’d broken the one good thing I’ve had my hands on in a long time.”
Emotion hits me fresh and fast.
I turn toward him fully, reaching for his face this time. His eyes search mine.
“You didn’t break this. You didn’t lose me,” I whisper. “You were never going to lose me over that.”
He lets out a breath like he’s been holding it for days.
Then he dips his head and presses his forehead to mine again.
“Good,” he says quietly. “Because I’m kind of done imagining my life without you in it.”
My heart stutters.
I smile through the last of my tears, brushing my thumb across the edge of his jaw. “That’s convenient.”
