“Something like that. Wouldn’t want you turning into a pumpkin.”
I huff and step further into the room, letting the warmth of the house wrap back around me. “Did she get to sleep okay?”
“Out cold.”
“Good,” I say softly.
He watches me as I move, not hiding or pretending he isn’t. “You have fun?”
“Yeah,” I say, slipping my jacket off and tossing it over the arm of the chair. “Played pool. Had a mojito in the correct glass. Got interrogated.”
“About me?”
“Among other things.”
His mouth twitches faintly, and I hesitate, then step closer to him.
“You didn’t kiss me goodnight.”
It comes out before I can dress it up, and his expression shifts almost immediately.
“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he says. “Wasn’t sure if I should put you on the spot like that.”
“I wouldn’t have been uncomfortable.”
“That’s good to know now,” he replies, pushing up from the couch slowly to stand in front of me. “But I wasn’t sure then.”
I fold my arms loosely, holding my ground as he steps closer.
“You’ve kissed me before,” I point out. “So what changed?”
“You were leaving,” he says simply. “To go out. I didn’t want it to feel like I expected anything.”
The answer hits somewhere painfully soft inside me, because even now, standing here wanting me, he was more worried about crossing a line than taking what he could’ve had.
“Well, now you know,” I admit, watching as his eyes travel between mine and down to my lips, his jaw working slowly. “I wanted you to.”
He hums his agreement and steps into my space fully. “I think we’re both past pretending we don’t want that.”
“You said you don’t blur lines,” I remind him quietly, and he shakes his head.
“I said I don’t blur them for just anyone.”
I tilt my head slightly, searching his face. “And I’m not just anyone?”
His hand comes up to my cheek, fingers brushing along my jaw before settling at the side of my neck.
“No, Pen,” he says, voice low. “You’re not.”
Something in my chest gives slightly at the words, and it feels like a knot I’ve been carrying for years finally starts to loosen.
“So tell me again,” he murmurs, his thumb shifting lightly against my skin.
“What?”
“Say goodnight to me again.”
My pulse stutters, and I hold his gaze for a second, watching him track the way my throat moves when I swallow. The big clock suddenly ticks loudly on the wall, and I glance at it briefly.
