“Kind. Irritating. Brave when you feel anything but brave.”
His expression softened.
“You repair things other people abandon. You feed Marlowe from the table after swearing you won’t. You hate being helped but ask for me when you need me.”
My thumb moved along his cheekbone.
“You are not a set of memories, Noah.”
His eyes shone.
“What would I do without you?”
“You would survive.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“No.”
He leaned into my hand.
“You do not have to find out.”
The answer seemed to reach something deep inside him.
Noah put his arms around me.
I held him.
His body felt stronger than the week before.
Not fully healed.
Present.
When he lifted his face, I kissed his forehead, then his temple, then the corner of his mouth.
Noah turned.
Our lips met.
The kiss warmed slowly.
No urgency.
No fear of losing the moment.
His hand moved over my shoulder and into my hair. Mine settled at his waist.
When he pressed closer, my body responded.
Hard.
Immediate.
I moved back before he could feel it.
Noah noticed the retreat.
