I curl sideways almost automatically, tucking my legs over his lap like I’ve done it a hundred times before. Which is ridiculous because this has been… what? Three days? But it already feels easy and comfortable. Like we’ve skipped straight past the awkward early part of something new. Rory rests one arm loosely around my legs, his thumb absentmindedly tracing slow patterns against my ankle.
He exhales softly. “So,” he says.
“So.”
“I think we need to havetheconversation.”
I nod. “Yeah.”
Because that question has been quietly hovering over us since Saturday morning. What are we? We’ve slept together. Multiple times. We’ve saidI love you. Which, when you think about it, is a fairly chaotic timeline. But somehow it doesn’t feel rushed. It just feels… obvious.
Rory shifts slightly, turning so he can see me properly. “Freya Collins,” he says softly.
My stomach flips a little. “That sounds serious.”
“It is.”
“Oh God.”
He smiles. “Relax.”
“I am relaxed.”
“You’re absolutely not.”
“Fine. Continue.”
He takes my hand then, threading his fingers through mine in that casual way that still somehow makes my heart stumble. “I’m pretty sure,” he says slowly, “that I’m completely in love with you.”
Butterflies erupt in my stomach. “Pretty sure?” I tease.
“Alright,” he corrects. “Completely certain.”
“That’s better.”
“And,” he continues, “seeing as we’ve already skipped several normal dating steps…”
“Such as?”
“Not declaring our love during the first twenty-four hours.”
I grin. “Technicalities.”
He squeezes my hand. “I was thinking,” he says quietly, “we could make this official.”
The word settles warmly in my chest.Official.
“You’re asking me to be your girlfriend?” I say.
He raises an eyebrow. “Is that an acceptable term?”
“It’s very Year Ten.”
“Okay.”
“Also yes.” I smile.
His smile spreads slowly. “Yes?”
