He studies me, like he’s weighing something.
“Why are you telling me all this?”
“Because I can’t stand the idea of you believing there’s something broken in you,” I say, my voice softer now. “You’re a good man, Dex Hawthorne. And I don’t think there’s a single thing about you that needs fixing.”
His throat moves as he swallows.
Then…
“You want a beer?”
He turns away, heading for the kitchen before I can answer, like the moment got too close, too real.
I let him go.
The room feels different now, quieter, fuller, like something important just settled between us without either of us naming it.
I lean back against the couch, exhaling slowly, trying to untangle everything he just stirred up inside me.
Marvel stretches beside me, then climbs into my lap like nothing just shifted in the air between us.
Lucky him.
A few minutes later, Dex comes back with two beers, handing me one without a word.
“Thanks.”
“Mm.”
We sit there for a while, not talking, the quiet between us easy now instead of heavy, like we don’t need to fill it.
I shift slightly, pulling the blanket tighter around me.
That’s when Marvel decides to attack.
Out of nowhere, he pounces on my arm, tiny claws barely held back.
“Hey!” I laugh, trying to shake him off.
Dex watches, clearly entertained.
“You’re getting taken down by a ten-pound kitten.”
“He started it!”
Marvel launches himself again, more determined this time, and I grab a pillow, using it as a shield.
“Oh, it’s war now,” I mutter, scooping him up and nudging him back as he wriggles and jumps again.
Dex chuckles, low and warm.
“Now you made him angry.”
Marvel leaps again, and I duck just in time, but he overshoots, landing square on Dex’s chest.
There’s a beat where everything pauses.
Dex looks down at the kitten.
