The kiss slows.
Softens.
But neither of us pulls away completely.
Not right away.
Her forehead rests lightly against mine.
Breath uneven.
Warm.
“You’re going to go back out there,” she says quietly.
I don’t lie.
“Yeah.”
Her fingers tighten slightly again.
But she doesn’t step back.
Doesn’t let go.
“Then come back,” she whispers.
That—
That hits harder than anything else.
Because that’s the ask.
Notdon’t go.
Notstay.
Just—
Come back.
I rest my forehead against hers.
Close enough to feel every breath.
“Always,” I tell her.
And this time—
It’s not just a promise.
It’s a vow.
62
Clay
Ishould be sleeping.
