The morning air feels fresher as we step outside, the humidity not yet oppressive. Lila balances both coffee cups carefully as we walk toward the truck.
“I can take one of those,” I offer, already shifting the containers to make room.
“I’ve got it,” she insists, of course she does, even as her grip falters just enough to prove she doesn’t.
Max’s golden face pops into view as we approach, tail drumming against the seat like a metronome set too fast. I set the food on the hood and open the passenger door for her. He’s practically vibrating now, a living seismograph of excitement.
“I’ve got this,” Lila says again, because saying it apparently makes it true.
It does not. Her boot catches the edge of the doorframe. Center of mass shifts forward. Coffee tilts past the point of safe equilibrium. Human reflexes engage.
I move automatically.
One hand catches her waist just as her balance slips. My other somehow manages to save both coffees before catastrophe strikes. A few drops splash across my wrist.
Close call.
Lila ends up pressed against me for one suspended second, one hand braced against my chest.
“You okay?” I ask immediately.
She blinks up at me.
And suddenly neither of us seems particularly concerned about the coffee anymore.
My hand is wrapped around her waist. Warm skin beneath the open edge of the flannel. Close enough now that I can see the faint freckles across her nose and the way her pupils widen when she looks at me like this. Her mouth parts just a little.
The parking lot around us seems to go strangely quiet.
“Well,” Lila says softly after a second, voice just breathless, “that was very heroic of you.”
“You were falling.”
“Mhm.” Her fingers curl lightly into the front of my shirt instead of letting go. “And you caught me.”
Max barks once impatiently from the truck.
“You know,” Lila murmurs, fingers hooked loosely in the front of my shirt, “you’re really leaning into this whole Clark Kent role lately.”
“By catching you when you trip over your own feet?”
“By constantly saving me.” Her eyes flick slowly over me. “It’s very farm-boy-with-hidden-muscles of you.”
Standing this close to her with my hand on her waist and her body pressed against mine, my brain keeps trying to remind me exactly how little fabric is separating us right now.
How easy it would be to give in to what we both want.
How easy it would be to walk her backward into the truck or the motel room and finally stop pretending I haven’t spent the last twelve hours thinking about what it would feel like to have her wrapped around me properly. What it would feel like to be inside of her and to hear the noise she’d make as I pushed inside of her the first time.
Lila’s eyes soften as she studies me.
“You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“That thing where you start thinking too hard.”
I glance down at her for a second before admitting softly, “I’m trying very hard not to hurt you.”
