Mine. Mine. Mine.
My fingers pressed into my thighs again before I could stop them.
“He’s busy,” I blurted.
Rhys made a low sound. “Oh my god, you’re already gatekeeping him.”
“I’m am not!”
My teeth pressed together, jaw grinding as my thoughts tripped over each other, fast and messy.
Was it too soon?
To start… folding him into my life?
Intothem?
My mom. Rhys. This goddamn kitchen?
My head tipped back a fraction, eyes squeezing shut for half a second.
He knows your blood type, Archie.
He knew what set me off before I did—knew how to touch me without making me feel like I needed to crawl out of my own skin.
Henry didn’t take pieces.
He tookeverything.
Every thread, every tell, every part of me I didn’t even know how to name yet—he pulled it in like it belonged to him. Like it always had.
So it wasn’t that.
It wasn’ttoo soon.
It was just me…. gatekeeping my boyfriend.
I didn't want to share him.
Not yet.
My stool scraped back before I fully decided to move, legs pushing me upright like my body needed out of the conversation before my mouth gave anything else away.
“I’m gonna—” I gestured vaguely toward the hallway. “Bathroom.”
“Mm,” Rhys hummed, then paused mid-scoop, eyes flicking up with a slow, knowing grin. “You’re going to text him.”
“I am not.”
“Arch.” He pointed the spoon at me like he was about to present evidence in court. “You have that exact look. Youalwayshave that look.”
Heat shot straight up my neck. “I’m going to the bathroom.”
“To text your Daddy,” he corrected.
“Don’t call him that!”
It came out sharper than I meant, cutting across the room before I could catch it.
