He blinked. Then he stared.
I’d laid out a thick quilt, propped up a few extra cushions from the break room, and set out a little picnic.
There were a flask of hot chocolate, a container of my halfway-decent cookies, and some leftover savory pastries I’d begged from Sean earlier.
There were fairy lights too. They were cheap ones and strung up awkwardly, but they cast a warm, flickering glow that made the whole space feel a little magical.
“James,” he said quietly. “You did all this?”
“Don’t act surprised. I’m a baker. I do romantic shit.”
His mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “Is that what this is?”
“Only if you want it to be.”
I saw it then, just a flicker in his expression. A wall lowering. His shoulders relaxing. He stepped forward, sat beside me on the quilt, and accepted the thermos without a word.
We sat in silence for a while, sipping cocoa, watching the stars blink to life above us. The night air was crisp, cool enough that I could feel the warmth of him beside me even without touching.
“Didn’t think you’d be into this kind of thing,” he said eventually.
“What, stargazing?” I asked.
He nodded.
“Well, I’m full of surprises,” I said.
He made a soft sound, almost a laugh. “Yeah. You are.”
We sat a little closer after that. Close enough for our knees to brush. Close enough to feel the tension humming in the air.
“You’ve been quiet,” I said softly.
“I’m not used to this,” he admitted.
“To what?” I asked.
“Being... seen. Liked. By someone good.”
That undid me a little.
“I’m not perfect,” I said.
“You are to me.”
And maybe it was reckless, but I leaned in. He met me halfway.
The kiss was softer than the last time. Less rushed. More sure. His hand cupped my jaw, steady and warm. Mine gripped his shirt, pulling him close like I never wanted to let go.
We kissed until the stars blurred. Until my breath hitched and I whispered his name against his lips.
“Come home with me,” he said.
I hesitated.
“I just want to be with you,” he added. “No pressure.”
There wasn’t any. Not with him. I nodded.
