His eyes soften slightly as he looks down at me. “Frey… I’m not saying we’re suddenly planning our wedding and buying matching pyjamas.”
I snort before I can stop myself. “Thank God.”
“Speak for yourself,” he says dryly. “I’d look fantastic in a silk two piece PJ set.”
“You absolutely would not.”
“I absolutely would.”
“You’d look like a rugby player in drag.”
“I could pull that off.”
“You couldn’t.”
He grins, that familiar cocky grin that used to drive me completely insane when we were younger. Still does, if I’m honest. But then the grin fades slightly and his expression turns serious again.
“I just mean,” he says more quietly, “I don’t want this to be something we pretend didn’t happen tomorrow.”
The words scare me a little. Because that’s the part I’d been avoiding thinking about. Tomorrow. The school run. The playground. The messy overlap of our real lives that exists outside this kitchen. Outside this moment.
“I have Theo,” I say softly.
He nods immediately. “I know.”
“My life is… complicated.”
“I know.”
“I don’t have space for drama.”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “Freya, you’re talking to a professional rugby player who has spent most of his adult life in the tabloids. I am very familiar with drama.”
“That’s exactly my point.”
He tilts his head slightly, studying me. “Are you trying to talk yourself out of this?”
My mouth opens. Then closes again. Because the honest answer is… Yes. No. Maybe. I don’t know. Which is deeply frustrating considering I usually know exactly what I’m doing at all times. I’m the organised one. The sensible one. The woman who runs a house and has a child and runs school schedules and work and life like some kind of slightly chaotic but very determined project manager. I don’t usually feel like this. Like my entire brain has been replaced with static.
“I’m trying to be sensible,” I say eventually.
He gives me a slow look. “You’ve known me since we were teenagers, Freya. When have I ever made you sensible?”
“That’s not the point.”
“It’s exactly the point.”
His hands tighten slightly at my waist as he pulls me closer again. Just enough that I feel the steady warmth of him, solid and grounding.
“I’m not asking you to change your entire life overnight,” he says.
“Good.”
“I’m just saying that what’s happening between us isn’t something I want to pretend away.” His gaze drops briefly to my mouth before returning to my eyes. “And I don’t think you do either.”
I hate that he’s right. Not because he’s smug about it. But because the truth sits there between us, obvious and impossible to ignore. I could walk away. I could absolutely do that. I’m good at walking away from things that feel too complicated. But the problem is… I don’t want to.
My fingers slide lightly over the back of his neck without me even realising I’ve moved. His breath catches slightly. “Rory,” I say softly.
