She takes one more step, and now she is close enough for me to smell her skin, clean soap and lake air and Layla. Close enough that every part of me remembers the maintenance cabin, the storm, the way she trusted me with her want and her fear.
“I’m still scared,” she whispers.
“I know.”
“But I’m here.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know how this works.”
“Neither do I.”
Her eyebrows lift. “That is not reassuring.”
“It’s honest.”
That earns me a small laugh. Then her expression softens, and she looks back into the cabin. “I don’t want to disappear into your life, Hudson.”
The words land exactly where they should.
I nod. “Good.”
She blinks. “Good?”
“I don’t want you to disappear either.” I reach for her slowly, giving her all the time in the world to step away. She doesn’t. My hand settles at her waist. “I want you in it. That’s different.”
Her breath shakes.
“And I don’t want you to leave teaching because of me,” I say. “I don’t want you to turn yourself into some version of me and call that love.”
Her eyes shine.
“I keep thinking about what you said,” I continue. “About teaching giving you somewhere to put all that love. Maybe the classroom was one place. Not the only place.”
She stares at me like the words are a locked door and I’ve just handed her the key.
“I don’t know what that means yet,” she says.
“Then we don’t decide tonight.”
She laughs, but then the sound fades. She reaches up and lays one hand on my chest, right over my heart.
“I want to come in,” she says.
My hand tightens at her waist.
“Then come in.”
She looks at the threshold. The light. The fire. Me. Then she steps forward.
I close the door behind her, but I do not lock it. I don’t know why that matters, only that it does.
Layla notices. Her gaze lifts to mine.
“You didn’t lock it.”
“You can leave anytime you want.”
