“Yeah?”His voice was rougher than usual, low and frayed at the edges.
“I’d like it if you kissed me again.”
A soft, breathless laugh escaped him.“I was thinking the same thing.”
His thumbs brushed along the insides of my wrists, sending a shiver skating up my arms.“But if I do,” he said quietly, voice dropping into something warmer, “I don’t know that I’ll stop with kisses.”
My pulse stumbled.“You want more than kisses?”
“I want you, Piper.”His voice was earnest, unguarded.“More time.More closeness.More of whatever this is becoming.”
My thoughts scattered.Heat bloomed fast and bright, making me sway a little.
“Oh,” I managed.
“Is that clear enough?”His mouth curved faintly.
I nodded.“Crystal.”
He leaned in—then stopped short, resting his forehead against mine, breath warm along my cheek.
“But not tonight,” he said gently.“Not like this.You’ve had too much taken from you already.”
My throat tightened.“Owen—”
“I want you,” he said softly.“But I’ll wait—until this isn’t about holding on because everything feels like it’s falling apart.”His thumb brushed my cheek.“Until it’s a choice.”
Something sharp and aching bloomed behind my ribs.
He pressed a brief, tender kiss to my forehead instead—intimate in a way that somehow hurt more than stopping would have.
“I’ll be downstairs,” he added.“If you need me.And if you don’t—I’ll still be here in the morning.”
I swallowed and nodded once.“Okay.”
He stepped back, giving me space without making me feel abandoned by it.And for the first time in days, tomorrow didn’t feel like something to dread.
Birdsong pulled me from sleep, followed by the faint clink of dishes and the unmistakable scent of coffee drifting up the stairs.
Someone had made coffee.
I rolled over, the echo of the night before still pressed into my skin—Owen’s hands warm and steady, the way he’d held me like he wanted everything and yet had stopped.Not because he didn’t want me.Because he did.Because he’d said he would wait until I was ready, until I wasn’t reeling from truths that had cracked my world open.
My chest tightened.
I blinked up at the slats of sunlight cutting through the vertical blinds, then shoved back the blankets and swung my feet to the floor.
That was when reality settled in.
Alice was gone.The town sat on a thinning place between worlds.The veil was fraying—and last night something had reached through and looked straight at me.
And somehow, impossibly, I was now responsible for holding it all together.
I scrubbed a hand over my face, breath coming out shaky despite my best efforts.The room felt too bright.Too ordinary for a life that no longer fit inside neat edges.
At some point—soon—I was absolutely going to have a full breakdown about all of this.
Probably not before coffee.
