“I don’t want halfway, either. I want all of you.” His smile is soft, a little crooked. “I want to know your life here. Every piece of it. I’ve spent years trying to become someone who could give you what you deserve.”
My chest splinters wide open.
“I never needed you to be worthy.” My voice cracks a little, but I push through it. “I just needed you tostay.”
His expression shifts, clouding over with something that looks a lot like regret. He looks down for a second before meeting my eyes again. “I know that now. But back then…” He shakes his head. “I’m not asking you to trust me with everything right away. Just…give me the chance.”
Give me the chance.
As if I haven’t been waiting for this exact moment since the first time he looked at me like I was something gentle in a world that had never been kind to him.
As if my heart didn’t make this decision years ago.
He’s sitting here asking for permission to step into a space I’ve already held open, just for him. Always him.
He sees me.
Not the girl I was. The woman I am. The one who learned how to stand on her own and chose him anyway.
He already has me.
He always did.
Three words sit on the tip of my tongue, too heavy to release just yet. Too precious. Too permanent.
So I don’t say them. Instead, I close the small gap between us until our breaths collide. My hands slide into his hair, fingers tangling in the softness at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. He stiffens just for a moment, eyes widening, but then he follows my lead.
The first brush of my lips is tentative, gentle, but the restraint doesn’t last. Every confession I haven’t dared to speak aloud pours into the kiss. It’s a conversation without words, a declaration without speaking.
His hands move to my waist, tugging me closer, his touch gentle but firm, like he’s afraid to break me but can’t help but hold on. He sighs, and the sound sends a shiver through me.
When I pull back just enough to see him, his chest rises andfalls in a ragged rhythm. His eyes search mine, open, honest, mirroring every bit of what I’ve been feeling.
“I know,” he whispers. “Me too, Violet. God…me too.”
We didn’t saymuch on the drive back to my place. Rowan kept his hand locked in mine the entire time.
At first, the quiet between us was charged, but after a while, it softened. If there was a time to fill the silence with nervous jokes or pick apart what just happened, I couldn’t find it. Turns out, some moments don’t need to be translated into words.
By the time I push open the front door to my condo, I’ve come back down to earth enough to function. My pulse has slowed to something resembling normal, and I can breathe without the sense that I might fall apart at the seams. Still, everything is…rearranged. Like the furniture of my life got nudged just an inch to the left and now I’ll never stop noticing it.
The living room smells like vanilla and lemon, warm and clean and unmistakably familiar. Whit’s presence is everywhere—the candle burning low on the coffee table, the throw blanket folded with precision, the faint hum of whatever comfort show she’s half watching.
“You’re glowing.” Whit’s voice drifts from the couch.
I blink at her. “I am not.”
She quirks a brow. “You so are. Is this ahe kissed meglow or anI got answersglow?”
I shrug, aiming for casual, but my mouth betrays me, turning upward before I can wrestle it back into neutrality.
“Oh my god,” she breathes, sitting up straighter. “Both.So are you going to tell me everything, or am I going to have to torture it out of you?”
I laugh and collapse onto the couch beside her. “There’s not much to tell.”
“Oh, please.” She nudges me with her foot. “Did you two actually talk, or was it just an impressive amount of making out?”
“We talked.” I drag a throw pillow onto my lap, tracing the woven pattern with my thumb. “He said he’s not going anywhere. That he came back for me.”
