“Worth it,” he replied immediately.
I stepped aside to let him in and he took in the apartment with an appreciative hum—new pillows, half-stacked books, camera gear still pretending it didn’t live in the corner.
He took one step inside and glanced around, eyebrows lifting just slightly.
“Well,” he said, slipping out of his rain-damp coat and hanging it on the hook like he’d been here a hundred times before, “you cleaned.”
He was wearing dark jeans, a soft grey shirt rolled at the sleeves, the kind of effortless casual that still looked expensive. Travel-wrinkled in a way that somehow made him more attractive, not less. There was still a hint of chill clinging to him, rain caught in his hair, his cheeks pink from the cold.
“I panic-cleaned,” I corrected. “It’s different.”
He smiled, amused, already toeing off his shoes without being asked. “You really didn’t have to go to any trouble for me.”
I snorted. “This wasn’t for you. This was for my own emotional stability.”
He laughed softly at that, eyes warm. “Ah. So I just get to benefit from your existential spiral.”
“Exactly,” I said. “You arrived during the brief window where I pretend I have my life together.”
He leaned in, voice low and teasing, as he murmured, “Lucky me,” before brushing a kiss to my temple.
God, I’d missed him. I stared after him, just drinking in his presence. His scent. Hisnearness. It took me a minute to even register that I needed to close the door and relock it, but I had before trailing after him as he moved through my space.
Then he wandered down the short hallway, peeking into the first guest room.
And the second.
Both empty.
He blinked once, then turned back to me with a grin that was entirely too fond to be dangerous.
“So… are these the guest rooms, or is this some kind of avant-garde storage concept I’m not cultured enough to understand?”
I laughed. Too fast.
“They’re… in progress.”
“In progress how?” he asked lightly. “Conceptually or emotionally?”
“Rude,” I said, but my chest had already tightened.
He wasn’t judging. He wasn’t even curious in a meaningful way. He’d already accepted the answer before I’d finished giving it.
Which somehow made it worse.
He just smiled, walked back toward me, and kissed me again like it didn’t matter.
Like none of it mattered.
LikeIwas enough exactly as I was standing there—unfinished rooms, unfinished plans, unfinished version of myself and all.
And I loved him for that.
I just wasn’t sure I believed it.
His second kiss was different from the first. Slower. More deliberate. Like he was rediscovering the shape of my mouth, memorizing it all over again. His thumbs stroked my jaw, gentle but firm, and when I tilted my head to deepen it, he made a low sound in his throat that vibrated straight through me.
"Hi," he murmured against my lips, his voice already rough with want. "Really hi this time."
