I huff a quiet breath. “That’s my job.”
“It’s more than that.”
I look up at him, really looking for a moment. There’s no distance in his expression now. No walls. Just something raw, steady, and focused entirely on me.
“You don’t miss much, do you?” I ask.
“Not when it matters.”
There it is again. He makes sure I know that I matter, not just exist.
“You were watching,” I say.
“Yeah.” Not defensive, or apologetic. Just truth.
“She didn’t want you near her.”
His jaw tightens slightly. “I noticed.”
“Yet you stayed anyway.”
“I wasn’t leaving you alone in there.”
My insides shift. “I wasn’t alone,” I point out.
His gaze doesn’t waver as he takes a step closer. “You know what I mean.”
I do.
“Alex,” I start, then stop because I don’t know what this is, not fully. But I know what it feels like. “I don’t do blurred lines,” I affirm finally because I’m tired of his back and forth.
His expression hones in; not defensively but focused. “Okay.”
“If this-” I gesture between us, the space that doesn’t feel like space anymore, “-is something, it doesn’t bleed into the job. You don’t use me for information. You don’t show up on my scenes unless you’re supposed to be there.”
A flicker of something crosses his face, gone almost instantly. “Agreed.”
“And if I say stop,” I add, my voice steady now, “you stop. No hesitation.”
His gaze locks onto mine. “Always.”
“You?” I ask.
A faint exhale leaves him. “Don’t lie to me.”
That’s it, simple but heavy.
“Okay,” I say.
I push off the wall and take one step toward him. He doesn’t move. But I see the shift in his breathing. The way his shoulders tighten, like he’s holding himself still on purpose.
His chest falls with a step forward that’s full of certainty. Now there’s barely any space between us. He looks at me like he’s waiting, not for permission but confirmation.
When I don’t step back, that’s enough. His hand comes up, steady and deliberate, cupping my jaw like he’s done it a hundred times in his head before this moment.
My breath catches but I don’t pull away. His thumb presses just slightly against my cheek, grounding me.
“Liv,” he says, like a warning.
