And God help me, I wasn’t sure I wanted him to.
The drive back to town was quiet except for Pati’s occasional commentary about the shower and Tyler’s excited chatter about hanging out with Tank and Nox. I half-listened, my mind spinning with everything that had happened. Grace’s words. Her blessing. The way Stephen had looked at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention.
What if Grace is right?
What if this is worth it?
The thought terrified me. At my age, I’d thought I was done with this kind of thing. Done with the racing heart and the sleepless nights and the constant awareness of another person’s presence. I’d had my time with Terry. I’d had my moment with Harold. Wasn’t that supposed to be enough?
But Stephen wasn’t Terry, and he sure as hell wasn’t Harold.
Stephen was dangerous in a way that made my pulse quicken and my defenses crumble.
“Nana, you’re quiet,” Pati said, glancing over at me.
“Just thinking.”
“About Popeye?”
“About nothing.”
She laughed. “You’re the worst liar.”
I pulled up to the bakery and parked, grateful for the distraction. Tyler unbuckled himself and scrambled out of the backseat, already talking about the leftover cake in the kitchen. Pati gathered her things, but before she got out, she leaned over and squeezed my hand.
“Don’t close the door on this before you even give it a chance.”
She was out of the car before I could respond, herding Tyler toward the apartment stairs. I watched them disappear inside, then sat in the quiet of the car for a moment, trying to catch my breath.
The drive to my house felt longer than usual. My mind kept circling back to the baby shower, to Grace’s words, to the way Stephen had held me like he had every right to. Like he wasn’t asking permission anymore; he was just claiming what he wanted.
And the terrifying part? I wanted to let him.
I pulled into my driveway and killed the engine. My house was dark and quiet, exactly as I’d left it. I grabbed my purse and headed inside, flipping on lights as I went. The familiar space of my kitchen, my living room, my sanctuary, felt different somehow. Larger. Like there was room for someone else now.
I poured myself a glass of water and sank onto the couch. I was so lost in my thoughts that I almost didn’t hear it at first.
A knock.
Soft but deliberate.
My heart stopped.
I glanced at the clock on the wall. Nearly nine at night. No one came to my house at this hour.
No one except...
I stood on shaky legs and walked to the door, my hand hovering over the knob. Through the peephole, I could see him. Stephen. Standing on my porch in the darkness, his leather jacket catching the porch light, his expression serious in a way I’d never seen before.
Some part of me had known he would come. The same part that had felt him watching me leave the clubhouse. The same part that had been waiting for this moment since the day he first walked into the bakery.
I opened the door.
“It’s late,” I said, though we both knew that wasn’t the point.
“I know.” His eyes searched mine, dark and intense. “I needed to see you.”
And standing there in my doorway, with the night stretching out behind him and the weight of everything unsaid hanging between us, I realized I couldn’t deny this anymore.
