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I stepped back. He stepped forward. The door clicked shut behind him, and he engaged the lock.

We stood in my tiny entryway, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him. Marzipan meowed from the couch, unimpressed, then jumped down and stalked toward the bedroom.

His hand came up, cupping my jaw the way he had in the pool. His thumb traced my cheekbone, then the freckle on my temple.

“I’ve been thinking about this spot since the first time I saw it, all the way back at the picnic,” he said. “About kissing it.”

“Then do it.”

He kissed the freckle first. Gentle, as if he was apologizing for every moment since the picnic. Then my forehead. My closed eyelids.

And I let myself have this for a few breaths before I pressed my hand to his chest. “Wait.”

He froze, pulling back enough to meet my eyes. “Too much?”

“No. Yes.” I was still gripping his hoodie as if I’d never let go. “I want this. I do. But Brashe, I can’t. I need to know this isn’t just you trying to fix your guilt about the picnic.”

He blinked. “It’s not.”

“How do I know that?”

“Because I’ve wanted you since before then. Since the first time Crim showed me a photo of his family, and you were in it, rolling your eyes at the camera. Since the first time I heard you laugh at one of his jokes.” He cupped my face again, his thumb tracing my cheekbone. “I backed away because I was scared. Not because I didn’t want you. Never because of that.”

“I spent ten months thinking I wasn’t enough.”

“I know. And I can’t take that back.” His voice went rough. “But Ellie, you’ve always been more than enough. I was too much of a coward to risk what choosing you might cost.”

The words settled into that hollow space Crim’s conversation had carved out.

“What changed?” I asked.

“I watched you work. Watched you refuse to give up on me even when I gave you every reason to. You’re brilliant and competent and so sure of yourself that it made me realize—” He stopped, his jaw working. “I was more scared of losing the chance than I was of what it might cost anymore.”

I kissed him but kept it soft. Careful. A promise, not a claiming. When I pulled back, his eyes had darkened.

“I need time,” I said. “Not a lot. But enough to know this is real.”

He exhaled, something that might’ve been relief or disappointment or both. “Alright.”

“You’re not angry?”

“Why would I be? You’re protecting yourself. That’s the smartest thing either of us has done since the pool.”

“Stay anyway?” The words slipped out. “Just to sleep. I don’t want you to leave yet.”

“I’d like that.”

“My cat, Marzipan, will judge you all night, but the bed’s more comfortable than the couch.”

“I can handle cat judgment.”

We ended up in my bed, him wearing his underwear, me my pajamas, tangled together underneath the blankets. He kept one arm around my waist, his face buried in my hair.

He fell asleep first, his breathing evening out.

I stayed awake longer, my hand resting on his arm.

Tomorrow, everything would get more complicated. But tonight, we had this. And maybe that could be enough.