I wish it was that simple.
I set our bag down on the floor, unzipping it slowly, giving myself something to do with my hands while my mind tries to catch up with everything else.
We’re here in his house and all sleeping under one roof. His roof.
That’s not something I ever planned for.
Not with him.
“You alright?” Jace asks from the doorway.
I don’t turn right away.
“Fine,” I say, because that’s easier than explaining something I haven’t sorted out yet.
He doesn’t push it.
That’s what makes this harder.
Because he gives me space without stepping back.
Because he’s here without crowding.
Because he’s exactly what I told myself I didn’t need anymore.
And now I’m standing in his house, unpacking my life into a space that wasn’t supposed to be mine.
Temporary is the word I hold onto, even as it feels thinner than it did an hour ago.
Because if I let it be anything else—
I don’t know what that turns into.
And I’m not ready to find out.
Jace stays in the doorway longer than he needs to, like he’s giving me space without stepping out of it, and I feel it without looking at him.
It shouldn’t matter, but it does.
“I’ve got food in the kitchen,” he says after a second, steady, like this is normal. “Figured you didn’t eat.”
I glance over my shoulder, not stopping what I’m doing. “We’ll manage.”
“You eat?” he asks.
I meet his eyes this time. “No.”
“Then you’re not managing.”
That almost earns him a look, something sharper than before. “You always this direct?”
“When it matters.”
I shake my head lightly, but there’s no real resistance behind it. “You don’t have to take care of everything.”
“I know,” he says. “I’m choosing to.”
That lands differently.
