He steps closer. There’s no space left for distance. No room for pretending. No way to ignore what’s been building since the first night I stepped into this house and realized nothing about this place would let me stay detached.
His hand settles at my hip like it belongs there. Not pulling. Not forcing. It’s as if he’s giving me something to lean into instead of something to fight.
My breath catches anyway. That’s the difference. Holt doesn’t take. And that makes it harder to walk away.
“You keep acting like this is something you can control,” he says.
“I can.”
“No,” he says quietly. “You can’t.”
My pulse spikes with something that feels like standing too close to the edge of something I already know I’m going to fall into.
“You don’t know that,” I say.
“I do.”
“How?”
His hand lifts with a gentleness I wasn’t used to and settles at my waist.
“Because if you could,” he says, “you wouldn’t be standing this close to me.”
My breath catches, and that’s the moment everything changes. I close the distance. My hand finds his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric as I pull him closer, and this time, there’s no hesitation, no testing the edges of something we’re not ready to admit. We’re already past that.
His mouth meets mine immediately like he was waiting. The kiss is different this time. It builds fast, heat sliding through it in a way that feels more certain than anything before.
His hand tightens at my waist, pulling me fully against him, and I feel it everywhere—the shift in his body, the wayhis breath breaks against mine, the way everything we’ve been holding back finally starts to unravel.
I lean into him. His other hand slides up my back, steady, grounding, and I feel the contrast of it—his control against the way everything else between us feels like it’s slipping past that point.
The porch light flickers slightly, and I don’t notice at first. Not until…it goes out.
Darkness settles around us. The moonlight still cuts across the yard, outlining the shape of the barn, the fence line, the low movement of something shifting out near the edge of the property.
I pull back just enough to breathe.
“What—”
Holt’s head turns, his eyes sharp and focused. The shift in him is immediate.
“Stay here,” he says.
I blink.
“What—”
“Lark.”
The firm and controlled way he says my name leaves no room for argument.
I step back just as he moves without hesitation, his attention already fixed on the darker stretch beyond the barn where something moved.
I see it now, or I think I do. A shadow. My pulse spikes as it shifts.
Crossing the yard with that same steady, purposeful stride I’ve seen before when something is important.
I don’t stay still because I’m too stubborn to listen. Instead, I follow. Close enough to keep him in sight but not get in the way.
