Something in the air around us shifts. I can feel it in the way the air thickens between us, charged and humming, like the world has leaned in to listen.
“I’m free! Thank you,” she says, breathless and bright as she steps forward and wraps her arms around my neck.
This simple and impulsive act catches me completely off guard.
For half a second, I forget how to function. Forget where my hands are supposed to go. Forget that this is casual, that this is probably just gratitude, that I shouldn’t read into it.
But then instinct takes over.
My arms wrap around her waist, pulling her in, and the fit is too perfect to ignore. Her laughter fades into something quieter as she settles against me, and suddenly, there’s nowhere else in the world I want to be.
If this is a moment I get with her closeness and warmth, her heartbeat pressed right where I can feel it, and she’s okay with it? Yeah. I’m more than good.
She lifts her head just enough to look at me, her face inches from mine now, her expression softer, searching. Her hands stay looped behind my neck, thumbs brushing my skin like they’re testing something.
Neither of us lets go.
Our breathing slows so we’re synchronized. Her gaze flicks down to my mouth, then back up again, like she’s asking a question without saying it out loud.
I swear, if either one of us moves even a fraction closer…something irreversible is about to happen.
I lift one hand, giving myself time to stop if I need to, but I know I won’t. My finger traces along her jawline, slow and deliberate, like I’m learning her by touch. She inhales sharply, the sound catching, and then she lets out a soft moan that goesstraight through me. Not loud. Not performative. Instead, it’s unfiltered and honest.
Her eyes flutter, her head tipping instinctively into my hand, like she trusts me there. That does something dangerous to my self-control.
I lean in, close enough now that our noses brush, our breaths tangling. I watch her—watch the way her lips part, the way her hands tighten at the back of my neck, anchoring us together. I don’t rush it. I want this moment to last. I want to remember exactly how she looks right before everything changes.
I slant my mouth over hers, slow and careful, giving her time to pull away.
She doesn’t.
The kiss is soft at first, almost reverent, like we’re both afraid of breaking it. I’ve stared at her lips for a few weeks now, the last thing I want to do is rush my way through this. Then she sighs into me, and I finally taste her—warm and sweet, somehow softer than the magnolia scent she wears, like that was only ever a hint of what’s underneath.
This kiss? It’s better than I imagined.
Her lips move with mine, unhurried but sure, and the world narrows down to this—her mouth, her breath, the way she melts into me like she’s been waiting for this, too.
I kiss her again, deeper now, just enough to make my chest ache. This is the kind of kiss that rewrites things.
And I don’t mean to pull her closer, but my hand tightens at her waist anyway, instinctive and sure, drawing her into me until there’s no space left to pretend we’re being careful. She makes a sound, a low groan at the back of her throat, and then her fingers slide into my hair, tugging just enough to make my breath hitch.
I take this as my cue and guide her back a step, then another, until her shoulders meet the wall behind her. Not rushed. Not rough. Just decisive. Like we both know exactly where this is going and neither of us wants to slow it down anymore.
Her hands stay in my hair, grounding me there, and I lean in, my lips tracing along her jaw, down the side of her neck. She tilts her head automatically, giving me access, her pulse fluttering beneath my mouth like it knows I’m paying attention.
I kiss her there—slow, lingering—letting the moment stretch, letting her breathe me in. She sighs and I’m undone. I smile against her skin before making my way back up, my mouth following the curve of her neck, her jaw, until I’m right there again. Close enough to see the way her lashes fan against her cheeks. Close enough to feel her breath catch when she realizes I’m not done with her, not yet.
My forehead rests against hers for a beat. Just one.
Then I kiss her again. It’s deeper this time. Her lips part against mine like they’ve learned the rhythm already, and I pull her in closer, her back slightly arched and her body braced between mine and the wall like she belongs there. And the terrifying thing? It feels so right.
This isn’t the kind of kiss that just “happens.” Not in my world. Itchanges things. And neither of us is pretending otherwise.
And then, I think we both hear it at the same time: clattering that sounds like it could be a thousand miles away, yet also in the next room. The make-out haze clears, and I realize we’re hearing the dulcet sound of a key turning in the lock.
We spring apart like we’ve been caught doing something far more dangerous than detangling a watch. Which, considering the way that moment escalated, we were.
“Mom?” Theo’s voice comes from the hallway, followed by the sound of sneakers on hardwood.
