I turned the water on, let it heat while we stood there naked in the cramped space, foreheads touching, hands gentle on each other’s skin. When steam started curling around us, I stepped in first and pulled her under the spray with me.
The water was hot, pounding against our shoulders as she pressed her back to my chest. I wrapped my arms around her from behind, one hand splayed across her stomach, the other cupping her breast. She sighed, head tipping back against my shoulder, and I kissed the wet curve of her neck.
“God, you’re beautiful,” I murmured against her skin. “Even soaked and shivering.”
She laughed softly, reaching up to thread her fingers through my wet hair. “You’re not so bad yourself. God, I never thought I’d ever like this tiny shower.”
I turned her slowly, backing her against the tile wall. The water streamed over us, slicking every inch of skin as I kissed her. My hands roamed down her sides, over her hips, between her thighs. She was already slick again, sensitive from earlier, and when my fingers slid inside her, she gasped into my mouth, hips rocking against my hand.
“Levi…” Her voice broke on my name.
I kissed her harder, swallowing the sound, working her slow and steady until she was trembling, thighs shaking, fingers digging into my shoulders. When she came, it was quiet this time—shuddering, clenching around my fingers, a soft, broken whimper against my lips.
I held her through it, kissing her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth as she came down. She looked up at me with eyes that were glassy and full, and something in my chest cracked wide open.
“I’ve wanted this forever,” I whispered. “You. Just you. Like this. Mine.”
She cupped my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones. “I’m here,” she said simply. “I’m right here.”
We stayed under the spray until the water started to cool, washing each other gently—my hands in her hair, hers soaping my back, quiet laughter when we bumped elbows in the tiny space. When we finally stepped out, I wrapped her in a towel, rubbing her arms to warm her, kissing her forehead while she shivered and smiled.
We dressed in the bare minimum, her in an oversized T-shirt that hit mid-thigh and smelled faintly of her lavender detergent, me in a pair of boxers from my bag—and padded barefoot to the kitchen. The tile was cool under my feet, the early light slanting through the small window above the sink in soft, pale gold.
Becca opened the pantry and pulled out a box of Pop-Tarts. The foil packets crinkled as she tore one open—strawberry, her favorite, the kind with the thick frosting and colorful sprinkles that looked too cheerful for how tired we both were. She slid two into the toaster slots, pressed the lever down, and waited. Thirty seconds later, the kitchen filled with that sweet, toasted-sugar smell, warm and nostalgic.
We sat at her tiny table, side by side, knees brushing under it the second we settled. The lamp was still on from last night, casting a soft golden pool across the wood.
She took the first bite, eyes closing for a second as the strawberry goodness hit her tongue. I watched her throat move when she swallowed, watched the way her lips curved in quiet satisfaction, and felt that same helpless attraction I’d carried for years tighten in my gut.
“You’re staring again,” she said without opening her eyes.
“Can’t help it.” I leaned forward, voice low. “You look like you’re tasting something holy.”
She laughed softly, set the Pop-Tart down, and reached across to brush her thumb along my lower lip. Before I could think, I caught her wrist gently and kissed the pad of her thumb, tasting sweet pastry and her skin.
Her breath hitched. She leaned in.
The kiss started slow, soft mouths, lingering, tasting Pop-Tarts and sleep and each other. Then it deepened. I cupped the back of her neck, fingers threading into damp hair still tangled from the shower. She made a small sound against my tongue, shifted closer until her chair scraped the floor. My free hand found her thigh under the table, sliding up the soft cotton of her shirt until I felt bare skin. She parted her legs just enough for me to settle between them, thumb stroking the sensitive crease where thigh met hip.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing harder, foreheads pressed together.
“Pop-Tarts are good,” she whispered, lips brushing mine. “But I’m thinking coffee might be better.”
I smiled against her mouth. “Violet’s?”
“Yes.” She kissed me once more, then pulled back just enough to meet my eyes. Her voice dropped, vulnerable in a way that hit me square in the chest. “I feel lighter with youhere. Like everything—the LLC, the planning documents, Travis showing up, the podcast deadline—it’s all still there, but it’s not so overwhelming anymore. You make the noise go away. I keep waiting to feel afraid again, like I always do when something big is coming, but right now I’m not. I’m just here. With you. And it feels safe.”
I swallowed hard, thumb tracing her jaw. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted to give you.”
She smiled and stood, eyes shining with a brightness that looked almost painful, like joy and fear were fighting for the same space behind her lashes. “Then let’s go get coffee. Let’s sit at a table and hold hands underneath it like idiots. Let’s make these next few days fun before everything gets loud again. I want to laugh with you. I want to steal kisses in the parking lot. I want to feel like this—like nothing can touch us—for as long as we can.”
Her voice cracked on the last word, just barely, but I heard it—the tiny fracture that said she knew how fragile the wish was. My heart squeezed so hard it hurt, a deep, bruising ache that spread behind my ribs.
“Yeah,” I said roughly, throat thick as I stood up to take her hand. “We can do that.”
We stood there a moment longer, the air between us suddenly too thin to breathe properly. Then she reached up, fingers trembling as they curled into the front of my shirt, and pulled me down.
The kiss didn’t start gently. It crashed, raw, desperate, like she was trying to pour every unspoken thing into my mouth before she lost the nerve. Her lips were soft but insistent, parting mine with a small, broken sound that went straight through me. I groaned low, hands flying to her face, cradling it like something breakable even as I kissed her back just as hard, tongues meeting in a slick, hungry slide that tasted like salt and need.
