The house is peaceful when we walk in. Maureen rises from the couch with a smile. Emma’s not in her arms. My eyes flick to the swing, empty. Then I catch the faint sound of the noise machine through the monitor and notice the bedroom door is shut.
“She was great,” Maureen whispers and sets the monitor down on the counter for me.
She’s out like a light, swaddled perfectly. All my nerves that have built up and twisted the last two and half hours vanish.
“See,” Cody says to me, a hand almost meeting the small of my back, but he quits halfway.
“Good. Did she eat okay?”
“Yup, the whole three ounces, just like you said. And she burped good.” Her smile is comforting. I shouldn’t have been so worried.
“That’s good.”
“Yeah, how was dinner?” She changes the subject, looking to Cody.
“Good. Got my burger.” He laughs like that’s an inside joke.
Maureen looks back to me, still smiling. “He gets the same thing every time he eats there, just like his dad.” She rolls her eyes.
Another minute passes with light conversation. I tell her thank you, and she assures me she’d do it anytime, just before slipping out the door. I couldn’t help but catch the look she flashed Cody right before it clicked shut. What it meant, I’m not sure.
Then there’s that famous silence. Cody’s still standing just a few feet away, lingering like he’s not sure whether to stay or go. But he leans against the counter, and that’s when I really look at him.
Nice jeans and boots, the kind he only wears to church. His black shirt fits snug across his chest, sleeves straining slightly around his biceps. He definitely shaved too; his beard didn’t look that cleaned up when I saw him earlier this morning. And I smelled his cologne the second he walked in to pick me up, but I didn’t think much of it then. But now I do. Now I notice all of it.
Something inside me changes, a guard lowers, my muscles relax. I look at him, really look at him. Theres a tickle in my throat, but I try to swallow it.
“Thanks for the date,” I say softly.
He raises an eyebrow. “That’s not how I’d treat a date.” He shakes his head with a light laugh.
I choke, feeling heat rush to my cheeks. “Then I didn’t mean to call it that,” I admit.
He laughs again, looking down at his feet and then pushing off the counter, walking toward me, slowly. “If it was a date, I’d have shown up with flowers, held your hand on the way there and…” His voice trails off when he’s only a few inches from me, and his gaze…his gaze is deep.
I don’t mean to, but my body takes a half-step toward him. “And?” I whisper, hesitantly, “What else?”
His brown eyes shift even more. The desire, curiosity, it builds quickly, and my heart beats faster. With one more step, he closes the distance between us. His hand finds my waist, steady, gentle, while the other slides beneath my hair, curling at the nape of my neck. My pulse is frantic.
Then his lips meet mine.
It’s slow, deliberate, unhurried—like we both know rushing would ruin it. My fingers curl in the front of his shirt, holding him there. The world outside this moment disappears, leaving only the press of his mouth, the warmth of his hand, the quiet weight of everything unspoken between us.
And when he pulls away, he doesn’t go far. His thumb brushes my cheek, and his forehead rests against mine.
“And…I would’ve done that,” he murmurs, voice low and soft.
I don’t say anything at first. I can’t. My heart’s still racing, lips still tingling, and his hands haven’t moved, like if he lets go, the moment will be over.
He slowly lifts his forehead from mine and studies me for a beat. “Sorry,” he says quietly.
My heart sputters. “Don’t be sorry.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have done that.” He takes a slow step back, the space between us suddenly cooler.
“But you wanted to,” I point out.
His mouth curves into a slow, knowing smile. “Yeah.”
