I stop in the doorway, adjusting myself because just looking at her undoes me. The knot of worry loosens, replaced by something primal. My heart pounds, and for a second, all I can do is stare. Everything about her—the way my shirt clings to her curves, her skin glowing in the soft morning light—grips me tight.
I step into the kitchen, clearing my throat to make my presence known. “Here,” I say, moving behind her and turning the coffee pot on, my fingers brushing hers as she pours the grounds.
She stiffens at my touch, her body tensing—a wall going up. “Thanks,” she mutters, brushing her hair back, revealing tired, red-rimmed eyes. She looks ... wrecked.
I frown, stepping closer, the warmth of her body pulling me in like gravity. The soft brush of her skin against my chest, the way her scent—coconut with a hint of vanilla—wraps around me is intoxicating. It tightens my chest, makes me crave more.
“Did you sleep okay?” I ask, reaching up for the mugs, but my eyes stay on her, watching every small movement. It’s like the air in the room shifts between us. Too much, too soon? Or not enough? Fuck if I know anymore.
Her fingers trace the counter, avoiding my gaze. “Not really,” she whispers, the words barely there.
My heart sinks. I want to pull her into my arms, but something in her posture stops me. She’s distant, closed off, and the ache in my chest intensifies.
“How come?” I ask, my voice quieter than I intended. The need to fix this, to fix her, is overwhelming, but I can’t do that unless she lets me in.
She sighs, her eyes drifting to the window. “I had a lot on my mind.”
No surprise there. Holt getting out, the way she disappeared last night—there’s a lot going on. But knowing that doesn’t ease the knot in my stomach.
“About last night …” I trail off, searching her face for any sign she’s ready to talk, but she shakes her head, cutting me off.
“Not yet,” she mumbles, her voice hesitant. “But …” Her gaze flickers to mine for a brief moment before darting away again. “We do need to talk. About other things.”
That sends a chill down my spine. Nothing good ever comes fromwe need to talk. I swallow, trying to keep my voice steady. “Like?”
Cecilia hesitates, her shoulders slumping as she grips the edge of the counter. “Last night was …” She pauses, eyes briefly meeting mine.
“It was great,” I say, stepping into her space, needing to close the distance. I brush a lock of her hair behind her ear, tilting her chin up. “It was perfect.” Her wide brown eyes lock with mine, and for a second, I think I’ve gotten through to her.
But then she blushes, that pretty shade of pink staining her cheeks, and she shakes her head. “Yeah, but … what does it mean?”
It fucking means everything. I keep my face neutral. Does she want it to mean something? Because it means everything to me.
But if I say that, if I tell her it means we’re good, back on solid ground, and that she owns my fucking heart, will she freak out and push me away?
Fuck. I don’t want to brush it off as a one-night thing. We’re so far past that. But what’s the right answer here?
“What do you want it to mean?” My voice is calm, though every muscle in my body is taut.
Cecilia inhales sharply and takes a small step back. I can see her walls going up. She’s retreating again, pulling away.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
What did I say wrong?
"I don’t want to keep doing this," she says, her voice a little stronger now, but there’s an edge to it. "Every time we get close, something happens. We mess it up."
Her words gut me, but I keep my face steady. She’s been through hell, and I don’t want to add to her burden. But god, I want to shake her and tell her I can’t go backwards. That I need her in my life—fully, completely. But what if pushing her sends her running? What if I mess this up before it even begins?
I feel the shift. She’s slipping, distancing herself. Before I can respond, she steps back completely, crossing her arms over her chest like a shield.
“We’re stuck in this loop,” she continues, pacing a few steps toward the sink. “I don’t know how to break it. And I don’t know if I’m strong enough to try right now.”
Her words cut deeper than I expected. I can practically feel my chest squeezing tighter. She’s scared, running like she always does when things get complicated.
“So what are you saying?” My voice is tense, frustration leaking through.
“I don’t know.” She turns to face me, her voice shaking. “I don’t know what I’m saying, Gabriel. I just know that … last night …” She holds her arms tighter around herself, like she’strying to build a barrier between us. “I don’t know where we stand and not knowing, it’s messing me all up inside.”
