“Trust me?” I whisper as I reach for her hand lightly, not pulling, just enough to guide her while I step back toward the alley.
She eyes me, hesitating at first. I can’t blame her—I did just throw away her rocky road—but if I can get her into that alleyway….
She follows. One step. Then another.
The noise from the street fades just enough, the light shifting as we move out of the direct sun. It’s cooler in here. Quieter. Contained.
I stop, shutting the gate behind her. That’s when I notice she’s close again. Close like before. But this time—no interruption.
Her gaze lifts to mine, cautious now. A little unsteady. “Ty?—”
I don’t let her finish. Instead, I lift my hand without over-thinking, fingers brushing lightly against her hair as I push a loose strand away from her face.
She stills. Completely. Like she feels it, too. Her eyes stay on mine, searching now. Not pulling away.
Her lips part slightly, and I come undone. As if she’s giving me quiet permission. Everything else falls into place after that.
I lean in, slow enough that she could stop me if she wanted to. She doesn’t. Close enough now that I can feel her breath against my cheek—warm, uneven. It catches, just enough to make something in me tighten.
My hand slides to her waist, firmer, pulling her in until there’s no space left to pretend this isn’t happening. She fits against me like she’s meant to be there, and that thought alone nearly undoes me.
Our noses brush, the movement gentle and slow. I drag mine lightly across hers, once, then again, slower, savoring the way she reacts, the soft hitch of air that leaves her.
I don’t rush it, even though everything in me wants to. I let it build, let the tension stretch until it’s almost unbearable, until the only thing I can focus on is her mouth, waiting.
Then I close the distance.
My lips find hers, slanting across them with more purpose this time, a quiet kind of hunger threading through it. And when they meet—she exhales the softest, sweetest sigh.
It’s tender at first. Easy. Testing. Because unlike the first kiss we shared, I want to get this one right. Her breath catches again, warm against my mouth, and for half a second she hesitates—like she’s catching up to what’s happening.
Then she leans in, deepening the kiss. It’s not rushed, not messy—but sensual and certain. Like we’ve both decided at the same time to stop pretending and be in the moment.
My hand stays at her hair, thumb brushing lightly near her temple, grounding myself in something real, something steady.
She shifts closer, her hand finding my arm, then my shoulder, like she needs something to hold on to.
I feel that, too. I feel all of it.
The way the world narrows down to this, to us—her, the quiet of the alley, the warmth of her mouth against mine. No noise. No distraction. My hands glide to her waist so I can pull her in closer, tighter to my body.
I pull back slightly, not far, but enough to look at her. Her eyes are still half-lidded, a little dazed, like she’s trying to recalibrate. And I get that. I am, too.
“Still think I’m messing with you?” I ask, voice low.
“No,” she says, a little breathless, “that felt real.”
I nod once. “Good.”
Because it was.
She exhales softly, still close, her hand resting against my shoulder like she hasn’t quite decided what to do with it yet.
Out on the street, a dog barks. Someone calls for their kids. A car door slams.
Everything keeps moving. But inside this space we’ve made our own, it’s the opposite. Just us being perfectly still as if any kind of movement will break the spell.
Her gaze lifts to mine, something lighter slipping in. “Well,”she says, voice steadier now, “that’s a whole changeup in strategy.”
