And when he turns to look at me, that blue frog becomes the most romantic gesture anyone’s ever made.
“I had fun tonight,” I tell him once we’re back in his truck. “Thank you.”
“Night doesn’t have to be over,” he says, his voice dropping a little lower. The way he’s looking at me makes my skin feel too tight. I might burst into flames if he keeps it up. “You could come by the house again. Have a drink?”
I bite my lip, pretending to consider it, even though we both know I’m going to say yes.
“Fine,” I say with an exaggerated sigh. “But only because I want to see Bramble.”
The smile that breaks across his face is nothing short of devastating.
The drive to his place is quiet but not in an uncomfortable way. Rowan keeps the music low and windows cracked to let in the night air. The plush frog is strapped in the backseat—Rowan insisted it needed protection, too—and I can’t help my smile as I glance over at the man driving. I’ve caught him looking at me every so often, as if he’s checking to make sure I’m still here.
When we pull into his driveway, he doesn’t say anything. Just gets out, rounds the truck, and opens my door. His hand is there before I even think about it, brushing against mine, steadying me as I climb down. The warmth of his palm against mine is electric.
A few minutes later, we’re back on his porch, drinks in hand.
The breeze drifts over us, cool against my flushed skin, carrying with it the faint scent of wood smoke. There’s nothing heavy or haunted weighing down on me tonight. I’m not waiting for something to go wrong. Everything just feels…right.
Rowan lifts his glass and tips it toward me. “To total and utter domination.”
I clink my glass against his. “You got lucky.”
He leans back, watching me over the rim of his drink. “You keep telling yourself that.”
I trace the rim of my glass with one finger, watching the condensation bead and roll. I don’t really know how to sit this close to Rowan and not remember every version of him I’ve ever known. The boy with a permanent bruise on his knuckles. Theone who used to steal my snacks in class just to see if I’d smile. The shadow of a smirk that used to undo me without even trying. I wrote him off a hundred times. Told myself I was over him a hundred more. Still, he was always there.
Now here he is with tattoos and laugh lines. It’s almost easier to pretend it’s just a drink on a porch. Just another night.
But nothing about this is ordinary.
“I didn’t think we’d ever get back here,” I say.
Rowan glances over. For a moment, I think he won’t answer. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything at all.
Then he shifts, his body turning toward mine just enough that our knees brush.
“I think about that a lot,” he says quietly. “How much time we lost.”
A lump swells in my throat as I stare out into the dark field. “I used to lie in bed and try to convince myself you never thought about me at all.”
His brows draw together.
“Because…” My voice falters. “Because that hurt less than believing you did.”
The silence that follows is almost physical. Thick. Taut. It hums between us, a live wire stretched just beyond snapping.
Then his voice cuts through. “You’ve haunted me, Violet. You’re everything I couldn’t stop needing, even when I told myself not to.”
I turn my face away before he can see what his words have done—though I know it’s too late. I already feel it, hot and raw, welling in my chest. That ache. That damn ache I’ve tried so hard to ignore.
“You had a funny way of showing it,” I manage, voice brittle.
“I know.” He exhales, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. “And I’d give anything to go back and do it differently.”
My throat tightens. “What if you leave again?”
Rowan doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his eyes lock withmine, steady and intense, trying to carve the truth into me with just his gaze. “I’m not going anywhere.”
