“No.”
His gaze found mine.
“I asked why.”
My throat tightened.
“You asked why I stayed after you insulted my truck, my wiring, and my taste in music.”
“What did you say?”
I knew.
But he was reaching for it himself.
“I said…”
He stopped.
His expression twisted.
The memory felt close enough to touch, yet he still could not reach it.
I wanted to fill the silence.
I made myself wait.
Noah looked at the stove.
At me.
Then his face softened.
“You make every room feel less empty.”
The words were not exactly the ones I remembered.
They were his now.
That night, I had said the place felt different with him in it.
He had looked at me as if no one had ever told him his presence improved a room.
I swallowed.
“Yes.”
“I remember the feeling.”
His voice broke.
“Not every word. But I remember you looking at me as though I mattered.”
“You did.”
“I was terrified.”
“You hid it well.”
