“No?”
I frame his face with my hands. “Ethan, you literally helped me reclaim my bench. You bring your plant to visit. You’re teaching me about your passion via movies. Trust me, I know you want more than just...”
“Just?”
“You know.”
“I really don’t. You’ll have to be specific.” His grin is wicked now, hands sliding higher under my shirt. “For clarity.”
“You’re terrible.”
“You like it.”
“I do,” I admit, then kiss him before I can overthink it.
This kiss is different from our others. Slower, deeper, like we have all the time in the world. His hands map the curve of my waist while mine tangle in his hair. When he nips at my bottom lip, I make a sound that would be embarrassing if I could bring myself to care.
“Missed this,” he murmurs against my mouth. “Missed you. Is that crazy? Two days and I’m already?—”
I kiss him again, not ready to hear whatever confession isbuilding. Not because I don’t want it, but because I’m terrified of how much I do.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard. The movie plays on, ignored.
“We should...” I gesture vaguely at the TV.
“Right. Ready player one. Very important.” But he’s already leaning back in, pressing kisses along my jaw. “Cultural education.”
“Exactly.” I tilt my head, giving him better access. “Learning is... fundamental.”
He laughs against my throat. “You’re going to be the death of me, Piper Renner.”
“Good way to go though?”
“The best.”
We eventually settle back into watching, but the air between us stays charged. Every touch feels deliberate now. Every shift of position a negotiation of want versus restraint.
“Hey,” I say as the credits roll. “Thanks for coming over. I was kind of spiraling earlier.”
“About what?”
I debate lying, then remember his thing about honesty. “You didn’t text much. I started wondering if maybe you were already over this. Over me.”
He sits up so fast I nearly fall off the couch. “What? Piper, no. God, no.”
“I know it’s stupid?—”
“It’s not stupid, but it’s also not true.” He cups my face, makes me meet his eyes. “I’m not over you. If anything, I’m worried about coming on too strong. Scaring you off with how much I already—” He stops. “I really like you. Present tense. Continuing tense. All the tenses.”
“Even future tense?”
“Especially future tense.”
We look at each other, the weight of almost-confessions hanging between us.
“I really like you too,” I whisper. “All the tenses.”
His smile is brilliant. “Good. Great. Excellent.” Then he kisses me.
