Safe.
Her fingers tightened in his shirt, anchoring herself to him as if the rest of the world had dropped away. She could have stayed there. Would have stayed there. In his arms. Against his mouth. In this moment, where nothing else existed.
But the world didn’t let them.
The lights hit her first: bright, intrusive. Then the sound. Cameras clicking. Voices rising. Someone called out again, louder this time. The reality of it crashed back in all at once.
This was not what she wanted. This was not private. This was not theirs alone.
Ivy pulled back. Even though every instinct in her body screamed to stay right where she was. But she couldn’t give this to them.
Finn let go immediately. His hand tightened around hers, no hesitation now, no performance.
He pulled her through the crowd. Fast. Decisive. A path opened for them, whether people meant for it to or not. She barely registered faces, voices, the way the noise followed them.
Finn didn’t look back. Didn’t speak.
Her heart was still racing, her lips still tingling, her entire body lit up as if something had been struck and hadn’t settled yet. They walked across the market, across the town square. They didn’t stop until they reached her door. Only then did he let go.
The absence hit instantly.
Finn stood there, a step away, his expression stricken. He dragged a hand through his hair, then looked at her—really looked at her—as if he was trying to measure something and failing.
"I’m sorry," he said. "That went too far."
"It did."
His jaw tightened, as if he was bracing for something worse. “It won’t happen again.”
“What if I want it to?”
The shift in him was immediate. Anguish gave way to confusion, his brow pulling together as he searched her face, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard her right.
“But next time,” she said, softer now, steadier, even as her heart tried to beat its way out of her chest, “I don’t want any cameras on. Just the two of us.”
Slowly—so slowly she could see every stage of it—his expression changed. Like butter melting in a hot pan, the tension loosened, the sharp edges softening. And like butter added to anything worth making, it turned into something richer. Warmer.
Joy.
"There're no cameras now," he said.
"Yeah. I think now would be a good time."
Finn didn’t hesitate. This time, there was no audience, no noise, no pressure to perform. Just the quiet space between them, charged and waiting. When he stepped in, it was slower, deliberate in a different way—like he was giving her time to stop him.
She didn’t.
His hand came up, not to guide, not to claim, but to hold; fingers settling lightly on her jaw. When his mouth found hers again, it wasn’t overwhelming in the same way as before.
It was better.
Softer, but deeper. Intentional.
Finn kissed Ivy as if he meant to stay there. Ivy felt it everywhere: the slow press of his lips, the warmth of his breath, the quiet certainty in the way he held her, like this wasn’t something to rush through or prove. Something real and completely theirs.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Finn was in the rows at five, which was not unusual, except that today he was in them the way you go somewhere when you need to think rather than the way you go somewhere to work.
