Marcus looked down at their joined hands.
Such a simple thing.
Such a devastating thing.
When he looked up again, Rowan was closer.
‘This minute,’ Rowan said.
Marcus’s heart kicked hard against his ribs. ‘This minute,’ he agreed.
Rowan kissed him.
Not like before. Not accidental. Not stolen by impulse and followed by panic.
This kiss was careful at first, almost questioning, but Marcus felt the restraint trembling beneath it. Rowan’s hand lifted to the side of his face, thumb grazing his cheek, and Marcus leaned into the touch before he could stop himself.
For once, he did not think about the appointment book, the dog competition, the paint peeling from his windows, or the smell of fish and chips lingering in the room.
There was only Rowan.
Warm. Real. Wanting him.
When Rowan finally drew back, he did not step away immediately.
That alone felt like progress.
Atlas gave a soft huff from the quiet zone, as if reminding them both that he was still there and possibly judging their timing.
Marcus let out a shaky laugh, resting his forehead briefly against Rowan’s.
‘He has opinions,’ he whispered.
‘Always,’ Rowan said.
His voice was still low, still rough, but there was something gentler in it now.
A few seconds later, Rowan eased back. Marcus let him, though every part of him wanted to hold on.
‘I should go,’ Rowan said. ‘He’s had enough for one night.’
Marcus nodded, even though disappointment pulled at him. ‘Of course.’
Rowan clipped Atlas’s lead back on, and the dog rose calmly, pausing to sniff the edge of the new quiet zone before returning to Rowan’s side.
At the door, Rowan stopped and looked back.
‘Marcus.’
‘Yes?’
Rowan’s fingers tightened once around the lead. ‘I’ll show up tomorrow.’
Marcus’s chest warmed.
It was not a promise of forever. Not even close.
But it was not nothing.
