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My hand actually trembles on the handle.

And when the latch clicks, the air shifts.

It’s just us.

No sound. No witnesses. No excuses.

“Come here,” he says.

I do.

Because I can’t not.

JAXON

She’s nervous today.

More nervous than before.

But she’s not running.

She walks toward me softly, cautiously, every step like a confession she’s not ready to say out loud.

Her hair is tucked behind one ear. Her blouse is fitted. She smells warm and sweet and faintly floral.

Beautiful.

I gesture to the chair next to mine again, but I don’t sit.

I watch her.

She sits slowly.

Her breath hitches.

Good.

I move closer.

Not touching, not yet, but close enough that her knee brushes mine under the desk.

She jolts.

I smile.

“Did you sleep?” I ask.

She swallows. “Not much.”

“Why?”

Her gaze flicks away. “I… I was thinking.”

My voice drops. “About yesterday?”

Her silence tells me everything.

I reach out, slowly, carefully, until my fingers brush her wrist. She inhales sharply.