I don’t find them.
Instead—
I find him.
Present.
Grounded.
Real.
“Okay,” I whisper.
And then I kiss him.
It’s not rushed.
Not desperate.
Not fueled by adrenaline or fear.
It’s deliberate.
Intentional.
A choice.
His arms wrap around me, pulling me closer as the kiss deepens, slow and sure, like we’re both learning the shape of something new.
Something steadier.
Something that might actually last.
I feel it in the way he holds me.
Not like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.
Not like he’s trying to prove anything.
Just—
Holding.
Being there.
My fingers curl into his shirt.
He murmurs something against my lips, low and warm and half-laughing.
“Careful,” he says. “We’ve got a sleeping toddler.”
I pull back just enough to meet his eyes.
“Then be quiet.”
His grin flashes.
“Yes, ma’am.”
