Tears slip freely down my cheeks again—not from grief this time, but from the slow, almost excruciating realization that I’ve misunderstood him. For months, I thought the distance between us was coldness. Disdain, maybe. Or worse—disinterest wrapped in the guise of professionalism. I assumed it was about him, his rules, his walls. But it was never about protecting himself.
It was always aboutprotectingme.
My success. My credibility. My future.
He kept himself at bay because he refused to risk the years of work it took to build something—for me. Because he wouldn’t let his own desire be the reason the work of a young woman in STEM was diminished or dismissed. Not in a world that’s been so quick, so eager, to do exactly that.
The thought nearly buckles me.
“But…” My voice catches, throat raw. “What doyouwant, Holden?”
He exhales, low and warm. I can feel the brush of it on my skin.
“Don’t,” I say, leaning closer. “Don’t say it doesn’t matter.”
He looks at me then—reallylooks—and the ache in his eyes is devastating. Then his hands come up, strong and steady, cupping my face like I’m something fragile he isn’t sure he’s allowed to want.
“Trouble,” he says, the word full of reverence and ruin, “I’ve wanted you since the first moment you challenged me in class. Every time you argued a point, every time you smiled in the hallway, you made it harder to keep my distance. Off campus? It was hell. Every second was me losing the fight not to reach for you.”
The edges of my heart thrum so loudly I swear the sound is real.
“I know I should’ve told you,” he says, voice thick. “But it’s like… you short-circuit the part of my brain responsible for good decisions. Or words. Or basic human logic. I wanted to say something, I did?—”
“After the café,” I whisper, the pieces clicking into place. His missed opportunity. My confusion. The quiet that followed.
He nods, and his thumbs trace over my cheekbones with a tenderness that undoes me completely.
“You’re my weakness,” he says. “The best one I’ve ever had. And I’m sorry it took me this long to say it out loud.”
My whole chest contracts. I can’t breathe through it, don’t want to. I lean into his touch, grab a fistful of his henley, and tug him closer.
He doesn’t hesitate.
His lips find mine like they’ve been waiting years, not months. He groans against my mouth, low and guttural, and the sound shoots straight through me. His hands slide into my hair, anchoring me, his body folding around mine like he’s finally letting himself fall.
And gosh, I fall with him.
I don’t know how long we kiss. All I know is that every inch of me remembers where his fingers lingered, every part of my mouth still tender from the press of his lips and the slow, devastating exploration of his tongue. I feel wrecked. Swollen. And somehow more whole than I’ve been in weeks.
He’s the one who finally pulls back, breath unsteady, pupils blown wide. His dark chocolate eyes have turned molten—whiskey, not coffee now.
“Trouble,” he says, voice low and still laced with that heat. “Me telling you all of this… it doesn’t change the fact that being seen with me could change things for you. People will talk. They’ll assume. They’ll judge.”
I nod. I already know.
He hesitates, his brow creasing. “I just… I can’t be responsible for that.”
“Dr. Kymbert told me something similar,” I say quietly. “Before we left the islands. Her version of it was… worse, honestly. She said women have to fit into neat little boxes to succeed. That we don’t get the luxury of missteps.”
He flinches at the words. Actually flinches.
“She said that?”
I nod. “She did. But, Holden, tell me something.” I take a breath. “Have you ever touched me without asking?”
He shakes his head. “No. Never.”
“And have you ever pushed something my way that I didn’t want?”
