"And what did you hear?"
"People who know what they're doing. People who care about protecting what you've built."
"But?"
He sees too much. Always has.
"I already said my piece."
"You held back. I could see you thinking through half the meeting, deciding whether to speak." He pushes off from the table. Takes a step toward me. "What else?"
"Nothing that can't wait."
"I'm asking now."
The distance between us shrinks with each word. He moves around the table slowly, deliberately, like a predator who doesn't need to rush because he knows his prey isn't going anywhere. I should stand. Should put the chair between us, maintain some barrier.
I stand. But I don't retreat.
Now we're on equal footing. Barely three feet apart. Close enough that his scent reaches me. Old books and whiskey andsomething darker underneath, something that belongs to him alone. I breathed it in when he carried me that first night. I've been trying to forget it ever since.
My body doesn't care about what I'm trying to forget. My body remembers everything.
"You were exactly who you needed to be tonight," I say, and I'm surprised my voice comes out steady. "In the meeting. With them."
"That's who I am with them." His eyes search my face, lingering on my mouth for a fraction of a second before meeting my gaze again. "It's not who I am with you."
"Which version is real?"
"Both." The word is quiet. Heavy. "But only one of them terrifies me."
The admission hangs between us.
"Why?"
"Because I don't know how to do this." He gestures vaguely at the space between us, and I track the movement of his hand, imagine it touching me instead of air. "I know how to command. How to strategize. How to build systems and maintain control. But this?" His jaw tightens. "I don't have a playbook. I can't calculate the right move or anticipate every outcome. You make me feel things I don't know how to manage."
He stops. His throat moves as he swallows.
"And that's terrifying," I finish.
"Yes."
He takes another step. The distance between us shrinks to two feet. I can see every detail now. The individual strands of dark hair that have fallen across his forehead. The fine lines at the corners of his eyes, the only evidence of age on a face frozen at thirty. The way his lips have parted slightly, like he's having trouble remembering he doesn't need to breathe.
Everything in me is drawn toward him. Gravitational.Inevitable. The space between us feels charged, electric, like the air before a storm.
"I'm still angry," I whisper.
"I know."
"I don't know if I can trust you yet."
"I know that too."
"But watching you tonight. In the meeting. At my door before." My hands are trembling. I curl them into fists at my sides, nails digging into my palms. "You're trying. I can see you trying."
"Is it enough?"
