“What are you going to do here, Nate?” I ask. “It’s all homes or?—”
He shakes his head. “This town’s actually having a big construction boom. Mostly infrastructure improvements and, yes, residential projects.”
“Is that really what you want to be doing? Because…” I lick my lips. “I want us both to thrive.”
“Well, if you’d asked,” he says. “I would have told you I want to teach architecture. A side gig to start with, maybe more than that.”
“That kid you were mentoring?”
He nods. “Teaching at Northmoor? Hardly making myself small here, Robyn.”
“I’ll ask for partner accommodation.”
He smirks. “I won’t say no to that.” He leans over me again, dipping his face down until our noses touch. “You’re more than enough for me to want to do this.”
My heart is pounding so hard I feel it in my temples, but his words are like a balm I can finally take in. “Move in with me,” I say, the sentiment tumbling out.
He shakes his head, just once. Gentle. Certain. “Not yet.”
My breath catches as I lower my gaze to the floor.
“You’re not ready,” he says, not unkindly. “Not until you can tell me what you want so we can compromise instead of protecting ourselves.” His eyes soften. “That’s when I move in.”
It hits me then. This isn’t hesitation. It’s care. He isn’t rushing toward commitment out of fear I’ll disappear. He’s checking the foundation of my trust for him and making sure it holds before adding pressure to it.
“But we’re together,” I say.
A slow smile curves his mouth. “That’s right. We’re fucking endgame, sweetheart.”
He leans in, finally closing the distance?—
“Wait.”
“Robyn…” His voice drops, rough and threaded tight. “I’m hanging on by a fucking thread here.”
“I want to do something.”
I duck under his arm before he can argue, grab his wrist,and drag him into the kitchen. My hands are shaking as I prop my phone against a glass, adjusting the angle until it frames him just right.
“What are you?—”
The opening beat hits with an electric hum and catchy bass.His eyes widen when he recognizes it. For half a second, guilt flickers across his face, old and reflexive. I shake my head, smiling.
“It’s not that. I want everyone to know.”
He exhales, that crooked, disbelieving smile breaking through. “Because you’re happy I’m here?”
“So happy.”
The song builds, the bass rolling low and warm, and we move toward each other slowly, instinctively following the rhythm that’s pulling us in. His hands slide to my hips while mine curl into his shirt. When the chorus hits, I don’t have enough time to react, his lips are already on mine. His kiss is unhurried. His tongue plunges with the certainty of someone who’s restoring a broken promise. And mine tangles with his with the softness of someone whose ability to trust is still tender but finally working.
I pull back long enough to stop the recording, then loop my arms around his neck and tuck myself into him, my phone between us. I show him the screen. “Is this caption too much?”
Can you believe he moved for me? Twice?
He smirks. “Not at all. And if you really want it seen, send it to my mom. She’ll make sure the right people see it.”
I laugh into his chest, overwhelmed and light all at once. “I love you, Nate.”
