He caught the quiet mix of her shampoo and the warmth of her skin, simple and clean, the kind of scent that made him want to pull her closer.
“You okay?” he asked.
She tilted her head up, her eyes softer than he’d ever seen them. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I am when you’re here.”
The words hit him right in the sternum. They didn’t cause him to panic or induce an urge to retreat. Just… a steady pull that settled inside him, deep and sure.
He reached for her hand—slowly, giving her every chance to pull away. She didn’t. Her fingers slid between his, tightening like she needed the contact as much as he did. She shifted a little closer, letting her cheek brush his shoulder, her breath warm through his shirt.
If someone had told him a month ago that something this laid-back could feel better than adrenaline and almost better than sex, he would’ve laughed them out of the room. But here he was—content in a way he hadn’t expected to feel again. He could get used to nights like this with Tess.
She curled her legs up on the couch, fitting herself against him like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Andy will be home from the movies in a little while,” she murmured, a subtle tenderness threading through her tone. “So we can’t... y’know.”
He felt her embarrassment and the desire she tried to hide in that half-whisper.
God, he wanted more, too, but he didn’t need it to feel close to her.
He brushed his thumb over her knuckles. “It’s okay. I like just being with you.”
She exhaled softly, relaxing fully against him, her hand tightening around his. Like he’d opened a door she was scared to touch.
They picked a mindless sitcom on TV, something that didn’t need attention. Halfway through, she shifted again, tucking her head against his chest. He wrapped an arm around her and held her, feeling the rise and fall of her breathing, the quiet trust in the way she rested against him.
He could’ve stayed like that all night.
When the episode ended, he forced himself to speak before he talked himself into staying. “I should go soon,” he said. “Before Andy comes home and accuses me of corrupting you in plain sight.”
She laughed softly against him. “He still thinks you’re the enemy.”
“He’ll eventually figure out I’m not.” He hoped so. For her. Maybe for himself.
She pulled back enough to look at him, her hand still warm in his. “I really wish I could ask you to stay the night.” Her voice caught. “I want more. Just not when Andy’s here. At least, not yet. It’s too soon.”
He touched her cheek, just his thumb brushing lightly over her skin. “It’s okay. I’ll follow your lead.”
She leaned into his hand like the words steadied something inside her.
When he stood, she followed. “I'll walk you out.”
He didn't argue. Even a handful of extra seconds with her was worth holding onto.
The air outside was cooler as a breeze off the water cut through the humidity. They stopped at the top of the porch steps, and he turned to tell her good night.
He didn't get that far.
She rose onto her toes and kissed him—slow at first, then with a yearning that stole every coherent thought from his mind. He cupped her jaw, his thumb brushing her cheek, and kissed her back like he'd been waiting days for it. Maybe he had.
Her hands slid to his chest, fingers curling lightly in his shirt. Something inside him gave way.
He deepened the kiss, backing her gently against the porch post, trying to hold on to a measure of restraint—and losing ground with every passing second. Her soft sigh against his lips made it even harder to remember why he'd been trying so hard to keep his distance.
Then—
A car door slammed somewhere on the street.
They froze.
Her breath was still warm on his lips, her fingers curled tight in his shirt. Footsteps crunched over the gravel—soft, but loud enough to shatter the moment like a snapped branch.
