And every single time, my chest tightens.
Because she’s still here. Even after the way I handled this week. After the distance. After I pulled away like a fucking coward.
My fingers flex against the steering wheel.
“You’re thinking too hard again,” Peyton murmurs softly.
I glance at her. “How do you know?”
A tiny smile pulls at her lips. “Your forehead does this grumpy wrinkle thing.”
Jesus Christ.
My chest does that stupid, painful squeeze again.
“I don’t have a grumpy wrinkle thing.”
“You absolutely do.”
I snort quietly.
And just like that, some of the tension loosens.
Only Peyton could do that.
That realization should probably concern me more than it does.
The cabin finally comes into view through the trees, warm light glowing against the darkness. I left a couple of lights on so Peyton wouldn’t have to come home to a dark house.
My home.
Except it doesn’t feel like just mine anymore.
That thought follows me all the way inside.
Peyton goes to the sectional and removes her boot. I close the door, locking it behind us.
“Guess this is the last time I’ll wear this.” She holds the boot up. “Hallelujah.”
I grin and half-heartedly tease, “You sure you won’t miss it?”
“Positive.”
The cabin settles into silence around us.
After all the noise and chaos at Connor and Allie’s, it suddenly feels too quiet. Too intimate.
Peyton turns toward me slowly. For a second, neither of us says anything.
My eyes drop to her lips, remembering that kiss. My pulse kicks harder.
Fuck.
“You okay?” she asks softly.
“Yeah,” I lie automatically.
Her eyes narrow slightly. “You’re doing it again,” she says quietly.
