His hand skim along my jaw until his fingertips disappearing into my hair to tug me close before he kisses me again.It’s slow and unhurried, like he’s trying to memorize me all over again.When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against mine.“Drive safe.”
There’s still that instinct.That protectiveness, but it’s softer now.Less consuming, and maybe that’s why I don’t pull away from it this time.
“You too.”
For one dangerous second, I almost ask him to come home with me anyway.Instead, I climb into the car before I can make another reckless decision tonight.Hayden waits on the sidewalk until I pull away.And somehow, I know without looking back that he’ll stay there until I disappear completely into traffic.
Friday drags.Not because work is difficult.If anything, the museum feels calmer than usual, the steady rhythm of restoration work and quiet conversation settling around me in the familiar way it always does.But underneath all of it; there’s Hayden.He is everywhere; in the back of my mind, in my bloodstream, in the lingering ache between my thighs every time I think too hard about last night.Which, annoyingly, is often.
I spend nearly twenty minutes touching up a section of cracked varnish while replaying the exact way his voice sounded when he said:I want to try.And the way that affects me more than the sex did.Which feels unfair.
By the time I finally finish for the evening, Chicago is already slipping into dusk outside the museum windows, the city painted in cold, blue-gray shadows and streaks of gold from the setting sun.
I shrug into my coat, say goodnight to the last few staff members still lingering, then step outside.I look up from wrapping my scarf around my neck and stop short.Hayden is leaning against the side of his black Audi, which is parked along the curb, hands tucked into the pockets of a charcoal wool coat while wind moves through the dark strands of his hair.And in his hand, Jesus give me strength, he’s holding a bouquet of sunflowers.My heart actually stumbles.Bright yellow against all that dark.Warmth against winter.
He notices me the second I step outside, posture shifting as his attention locks fully onto me.Like it always does.I cross the sidewalk in a haze, unable to stop staring at the flowers.“You brought me Van Gogh.”
One corner of his mouth lifts just a fraction.“I brought you flowers.”
My chest tightens even though he’s trying to downplay his actions.Because he remembered.Of course he remembered.Hayden remembers everything.I take them carefully from his hand, fingertips brushing his as the faint earthy scent of the sunflowers curls into the cold air between us.
“They’re beautiful.”
“You look surprised.”
“I am surprised.”
That earns me a low hum of amusement before his gaze drags over me with lazy precision.Not sexual exactly.Just focused and not missing a single detail.Like he’s reassuring himself I’m actually standing here.
“You’ve been staring at your phone.”
I blink once.“Excuse me?”
“I know I have been.”His expression stays maddeningly calm as he shrugs.“And I noticed you checked your phone at least twelve times between five and six.”
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it.“There he is.”
“There who is?”
“The terrifyingly observant man I’m apparently trying this again with.”
Something softer flickers through his expression then.He prowls closer until there’s no more distance between us and one hand slides against the small of my back while he leans down enough for his mouth to brush against mine.The kiss is brief, but it’s intimate in a way that sends curling heat low in my stomach all over again.
“Hi,” he murmurs against my lips.God.
“Hi.”
For one dangerous second, I think he might kiss me again, but instead, he pulls back just enough to look at me.“Come have dinner with me.”
“That sounded less like a question and more like an executive order.”
“I can rephrase if necessary.”
“You’ll hate yourself for it.”
A quiet laugh slips from him, low enough that I feel it more than hear it.And there it is again; warmth and an ease that’s beginning to exist between us again.
It’s terrifying.It’s wonderful.
