Her hand lifts, hesitates, then settles against my forearm as if she’s testing whether I’m real.
“Marshall,” she says, soft enough that it feels meant just for me.
That’s all it takes.
I lean in, stopping just short of her mouth. Close enough to feel her breath, to see the way her lips part instinctively. I give her the space. The choice.
She takes it.
Her mouth meets mine, unhurried but certain, and the kiss lands low and deep. Her lips are warm, soft, familiar in a way that makes my chest tighten.
My hand comes to her waist, firm now, anchoring us, letting her feel exactly how steady I am.
She exhales into the kiss, a quiet sound that slips past my control and cracks my insides open.
I deepen it, just enough. Enough to tell her how long I’ve been holding back. Enough to let her feel the promise in it without crossing the line.
She responds immediately, pressing closer, mouth moving with intention.
For a heartbeat, the world narrows to the brush of lips, the slide of breath, the awareness of how easily this could turn dangerous if we let it.
When we finally break apart, we don’t move away.
Foreheads hover close, breathing uneven. My thumb presses lightly at her waist, a question I’m not asking out loud.
Her eyes are dark when she looks at me. And I know, absolutely know, that this isn’t confusion.
It’s anticipation.
“There’s something you should know.”
Her lashes flutter. “That sounds dangerous.”
“Maybe,” I admit.
She waits. That alone does things to my chest.
“All of us,” I say. “Wyatt. Jesse. Me.” I pause, letting it land. “We want to see you again.”
Her breath catches.
It’s subtle, but I see it. The way her shoulders ease instead of tensing. The way her lips part, not in surprise, but interest.
Her pulse jumps under my thumb. It recognizes the truth before her brain finishes processing it.
“All of you?” she repeats softly.
“Yes.”
There’s unmistakable emotion sparking in her eyes.
Excitement.
Good.
I smile, slow and knowing. “You don’t have to decide anything right now.”
She swallows. “But you’re asking.”
