Cole’s name doesn’t need to be spoken. It hangs there anyway.
“I thought coming here would be clean,” he admits. “Build something real. Something that doesn’t require watching every shadow.”
“You still watch them,” I point out gently.
“Yes.”
I step closer, because apparently I’m incapable of learning lessons.
“You didn’t deserve what happened today,” I say.
“I chose my past,” he replies. “I don’t get to erase it.”
“You also chose restraint,” I counter. “You stood there and let them question you without burning the gym down.”
A faint flicker of amusement crosses his face.
“I don’t burn down what I’m trying to build.”
“I didn’t plan to build anything here,” I confess. “I planned to leave town before anyone learned my coffee order.”
“And yet…” he murmurs.
The wind shifts again, cooler now. He steps closer without thinking about it, his hand settling at my waist.
“I don’t half step into anything,” he adds.
“I’ve noticed.”
“If you’re here,” he continues, eyes fixed on mine, “it matters.”
My pulse does a dramatic thing that I will absolutely blame on altitude.
“And if I leave?” I ask, because I’m me and I ruin moments for sport.
His thumb traces a slow arc along my jaw, just under my ear, and I have to actively remember how oxygen works.
“Then you leave knowing exactly what you were,” he says.
The town lights flicker below us, pretty as a constellation.
“You’re very intense, aren’t you?”
“You’re very distracting.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s accurate.”
He leans in slowly, giving me enough time to step back if I want to.
I don’t.
His mouth meets mine in a kiss that isn’t rushed or reckless. It’s warm in a way that feels suspiciously like trust. He tastes faintly of whiskey and restraint and the kind of control that chooses not to break.
When I open to him, he exhales softly, like he’s been holding something in his chest all evening and has finally let it out.
My hands slide up into his jacket, gripping lightly.
