The road stretched ahead of us, washed in amber streetlights and the last traces of sunset bleeding out behind the hills.
My hands were folded in my lap, fingers twisting together without my permission.
Dinner replayed in fragments: the way he watched me while I talked, filing details away. The way his mouth curved when I laughed. The gentle moment after he said I was good for Harper, when I felt seen in a way that made my chest ache.
I was still floating in it when he spoke.
“Hey,” he said, casual, like he hadn’t just shifted the ground under my feet. “Can I see your place?”
I blinked, my head snapping toward him. “My… place?”
“Yeah.” He kept his eyes on the road, one hand relaxed on the wheel. “You’ve been livin’ in mine. Feels only fair I see yours.”
Only fair.
My heart did a strange little stutter.
“Oh,” I said, far more intelligently than I meant to. “I mean—yeah. Sure.”
Too quick. Too eager.
I stared out the window, my fingers absently smoothing the worn sleeve of my jacket, back and forth. Each pass reminded me of what I hadn’t prepared for.
“You don’t have to,” I added, trying to sound breezy. “It’s not—”
“I want to,” he said simply.
That shut me up.
A few seconds passed, and then his hand moved and rested on my thigh.
My breath caught before I could stop it.
He didn’t squeeze or slide his hand higher; he just let his palm settle, thumb brushing once, like he wasn’t even thinking about it.
I absolutely was.
My pulse skittered. My skin felt too tight. Every nerve ending suddenly woke up and started paying attention.
“You’re gonna have to tell me where to turn,” he said, voice easy, like he hadn’t just undone me with one simple touch.
“R-right,” I said, clearing my throat. “Next light. Then left.”
I gave directions a little too fast, my words tumbling over each other as my brain scrambled to keep up with my body.
Was my apartment clean enough? I had vacuumed, technically, but had I wiped the counters? What would he notice first—laundry piled somewhere? The smell of last week’s takeout lingering?I half-wished I could turn invisible, to keep him from seeing the everyday mess that felt so oddly vulnerable.
“You okay?” he asked, glancing over at me.
“Fine,” I said immediately. “Great. Just… giving directions.”
He hummed, unconvinced, his hand still cemented where it was on my thigh.
The closer we got, the more my nerves buzzed. This felt intimate in a way dinner hadn’t. Seeing my place wasn’t just a stop; it was an invitation. A window into the parts of my life I didn’t polish for anyone else.
We turned onto my street, the familiar row of buildings coming into view. My chest tightened with something like anticipation.
“Here,” I said, pointing. “Second building on the right.”
