Growing up in foster care meant constantly walking into unfamiliar homes and trying to figure out whether you belonged there. You learned to notice every expression. Every glance. Every subtle sign that somebody was judging where you came from or what you didn't have.
Thane didn't give me any of those signs. He just sat down on my old couch like it was the most normal couch in Seattle.
"What did you bring?" I asked.
A grin tugged at his mouth. "Food."
"Thank you. Very helpful."
He opened the bag. "Burgers. Fries. And before you ask, yes, I also brought dessert."
I narrowed my eyes. "You brought dessert?"
"I've known you for almost two days." His expression remained perfectly serious. "That's long enough to identify a pattern."
The laugh escaped before I could stop it.
A few minutes later, we were eating from paper containers balanced on the coffee table. The television remained off. Christmas lights from a neighboring apartment blinked faintly through the window. The atmosphere felt oddly comfortable, considering the circumstances.
At some point during the conversation, I realized I wasn't nervous anymore. Curious. Confused. Maybe a little overwhelmed. But not nervous. The realization settled quietly between one bite and the next, which was probably why the question slipped out before I could overthink it.
"Why are you here?" The words weren't challenging. I genuinely wanted to know.
For a moment, he simply held my gaze. Then he set down his drink. "Because I wanted to see you."
There was no practiced charm in his voice. Just straightforward honesty.
"I kept thinking about you," he admitted, leaning back against the couch, his broad shoulders making my living room look tiny. "The media has been a complete circus the last two days. I tried focusing on the game, on the noise, on everythingelse happening. But my head kept looping back to that bar. Back to your table."
The tease slipped out before I could stop it, instantly invoking the memory of how we’d left that bar together.
For a second, something flickered across Thane's face. A flash of heat, followed by a slight, boyish smirk. He rubbed the back of his neck. "No. Not just the table."
My pulse stumbled.
"The conversation first," he said quietly, his gaze locking back onto mine, serious now. "The fact that a stranger somehow convinced me to spend three hours talking about teaching and stupid Christmas movies. I haven't had a real conversation like that in years."
His eyes dropped briefly to my lips, the air between us suddenly feeling a lot warmer.
"And then after that," he added, his voice dropping a register. "Because that was... easily the best night I've had in as long as I can remember."
Heat crawled all the way up the back of my neck. I picked at the edge of a napkin. "You left before I woke up." The words came out quieter than I'd intended.
Something in Thane's expression immediately changed. "I know." He didn't try to dodge it or pretend he didn't understand what I meant. "I spent most of yesterday trying to decide whether I should be annoyed about that."
"And what did you decide?"
Thane didn't answer right away. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his large hands loosely clasped in front of him. "I decided I was an idiot for leaving," he said, looking straight at me. He let out a short, self-deprecating laugh and shook his head. “The second I got back to my place, I regretted it. I should have woken you up. Or at least left a note with mynumber, instead of letting you think it was just... a one-time thing."
My fingers stopped tearing at the napkin. The knot of insecurity that had been tightening in my stomach since yesterday morning suddenly loosened. "I did think that," I admitted, my voice barely louder than the hum of the refrigerator. “Then, when I saw you on a sports network, it felt surreal. Like I’d made the whole night up."
Thane’s gaze softened, a heavy, genuine look crossing his features. "You didn't make it up, Kieran. It was real."
The couch wasn't particularly large. Somewhere during the conversation, we'd both shifted closer to the center cushions.
"Were you planning to tell the world before we met?" I asked.
He leaned back against the couch and released a slow breath. "The press conference was already scheduled."
