‘I should probably say this complicates everything,’ she murmured.
‘Probably,’ he said. ‘But it also feels like the start of something.’
Across the room, the pinball machine flickered once – a soft golden pulse.
‘You’re impossible, Gigi,’ she muttered.
He huffed a quiet laugh. ‘What was that?’
‘Nothing.’
He should go. He knew that. Give her space. Let this be for now.
‘I should probably?—’
‘No one else will be awake for a while,’ she said carefully. ‘Would you like to come upstairs?’
His entire body answered yes.
He hesitated anyway.
‘We don’t have to … rush,’ she added quickly. ‘I don’t want to ruin it.’
Relief softened something in him. ‘Good. Because I was trying to work out how to say exactly that without sounding like a complete coward.’
Her lips twitched. ‘You? A coward?’
‘Terrified,’ he admitted. ‘But in a good way.’
Upstairs, they sat on the edge of the bed like teenagers who’d skipped ahead in the rulebook.
Eventually they lay down side by side, a polite gap between them.
It lasted seconds.
Her fingers brushed his. Paused.
Then she laced them through his.
‘Is this OK?’ she whispered.
‘More than OK.’
He turned his head slightly, giving her space to reconsider.
She leaned in instead.
The kiss was softer this time. Less fire, more warmth. A question rather than an answer.
When they broke apart, she rested against him, tentative at first.
‘Cuddling?’ she asked.
‘Absolutely.’
He wrapped his arm around her. She fitted against him with surprising ease, like something aligning. No urgency. No expectation. Just breathing, warmth, the steady rhythm of two people choosing to stay.
‘You’re very comfortable,’ she murmured.
