“I want to do this right.”
The old ache warmed into something gentler.
“And if you come inside, you won’t?”
His mouth curved faintly. “Beautiful, if I come inside, I’m going to kiss you until both of us forget every sensible boundary we built.”
Heat moved through me.
Slow.
Certain.
I looked out the windshield.
“Good point.”
He laughed under his breath.
“But not tonight,” I said.
“No,” he agreed. “Not tonight.”
I looked back at him.
“Ask me for a second date.”
His face changed again.
That look.
Like joy still surprised him.
“Destiny Rourke,” he said, voice low and rough, “will you go on a second date with me?”
I pretended to consider.
He waited.
Patiently, which was either growth or pain medication.
“Yes.”
His smile broke open.
This time, I leaned over first.
The kiss was soft, lingering, full of promise but not urgency. We had spent years being urgent. Years letting fear shove us into moments too heavy for their own survival.
Now we had time.
We had earned time.
When I pulled back, Dylan stayed still, eyes closed, like he was holding the kiss somewhere safe.
“Goodnight, Dylan.”
His eyes opened.
