“You absolutely may not.”
His smile lingers.
“What changed?”
I look back at the fire.
“I realised I was much better at fixing what didn’t work in other people’s writing than producing any of my own worth defending.”
“And that became this.”
“Eventually.” I tuck one leg up slightly. “There’s a logic to editing. You can see what’s broken. You can improve it. There’s a way through.”
“And people don’t work like that.”
I glance at him.
“No,” I say quietly. “People are messier… you can’t edit them.”
Mark says nothing.
Just lets the words sit there between us, steady and warm and far too close to something I do not want to name.
Chapter 8
Mark
Philip settles back againstme again, easier now, not holding himself quite so tightly, and my arm stays where it is, his weight fitting into me with a familiarity that should feel impossible after a few hours.
It doesn’t.
Instead it feels as though my body made up its mind about him long before the rest of me caught up.
I lower my head and press a kiss to his shoulder.
Slow enough that he can move if he wants to.
He doesn’t.
So I do it again, a little higher this time, against the warm line where neck meets skin, then ease him gently round until he is facing me.
His mouth is right there.
I stop thinking before that can become a problem and kiss him.
Not like earlier.
Not hungry.
Just quiet. A soft confirmation that whatever this is, we are both still choosing to stay in it.
When I draw back, I stay close enough to feel his breath.
“Why are you single?” I ask.
He blinks, then lets out a laugh.
“That’s quite personal for a first date.”
