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The sharp crack cut through the cold air like a whip.
Sage’s whole body locked up. Her breath hitched — a visible little cloud puffing out — and for one heartbeat the mischief in her eyes flickered into something deeper, something raw and wondering. A man had just touched her with confidence… and she hadn't pulled away. Not even a little.
Cal froze half a second after the fact, hand still hovering like it had betrayed him and was now waiting for court-martial.
Well done, asshole, the disciplined half deadpanned somewhere in the back of his skull. Real mature. Ten out of ten. Idiot.
Sage stayed frozen on the step, staring up at him, shock still bright in her eyes.
Cal was already moving past her, hand closing around the door handle on pure instinct. He pulled it open and held it — because Mama would haunt him if he didn’t — and looked down at her from the warm glow spilling out.
Alright, genius. Cool it. No more flirting. Just open the damn door.
He tried. He really, really tried.
“Behave, princess.”
The words came out low and rough, a rumble meant only for the charged space between them.
Princess.
It hit him like a slap of cold water. What the hell did I just call her?
It hadn’t been planned. It came from somewhere deeper and hungrier than any of the safe, careful names he’d been using to keep distance. This one had teeth.
He had about one-point-five seconds to register the full disaster — the slap, the word, the entire sequence — before his operational mind slammed back online with flat, disgusted disapproval.
Wow. Slow clap. Amazing. What the fuck was that, Cal?
He didn’t have an answer.
All he knew was the warmth still burning on his palm. The way her caught breath hung in the cold air louder than any sound she’d made. The fact that the careful wall he’d built this morning — platonic, friendship, protector — now had a perfect handprint-shaped crack running straight through it.
He filed it away. Neatly. For later.
That mental drawer was getting real fucking full.
Sage climbed the steps slowly. A blush crawled up from her neck to her cheeks, unstoppable and unhidden. She pressed her lips together, fighting a smile and losing, her blue eyes bright with too many feelings to name.
She walked through the door he held, close enough that he caught the clean, warm scent of her shampoo from this morning—still clinging to her skin, sweet and soft and dangerous. Close enough that his body retreated half a pace before he could stop it.
She noticed and her eyes widened with laughter. She paused right in the doorway and looked up at him.
“Princess, huh?” she asked, quiet, testing the word like new ice.
Cal said nothing. Just held the door. Waited.
Her smile broke through—small, real, and devastating.
“Okay,” she whispered. Like she was accepting a gift she hadn’t known she wanted. Then she slipped inside.
He followed.
And absolutely did not think about the handprint.
Did not think about the way she’d tasted that word on her tongue.
And under no circumstances did he let himself admit that the girl who’d just walked into his mama’s diner was already halfway to bringing the whole damn wall down.
