I blinked, unsurehowexactly that was coming across.“For...the vineyard?”
His shoulders relaxed.“For me,” he corrected gently.“You make things feel lighter.Clearer.”
The words landed deeper than I expected.I wasn’t used to being seen that way, not as someone who eased things, but as someone who added something just by being present.
“I don’t know how long I’ve been running on empty,” he continued.“Chasing the next thing.Fixing what’s broken.Trying to keep everything upright.”He paused and smiled faintly, before resting his forearms on the table.“You remind me to breathe.”
Something in my throat tightened.
“I don’t make a habit of being complicated,” I said quietly.
“I know,” he replied, locking his gaze with mine.“You make a habit of being careful.”
There it was again.That word.Careful.
My pulse jumped slightly.“I have to be,” I said.“My life finally feels...calm.Predictable.I worked hard for that.”
Reaching for my hand, he gently encased it between his two hands.“And calm isn’t a bad thing, but it’s not always the same as happy.”
The truth of it echoed between us, because he was right.It wasn’t the same.
Needing to move, I pulled back and grabbed the dishes.At the sink, I set them down and turned.Tristan followed, stopping close enough for me to breathe in a whiff of soap floating off a warmed body.The space between us felt charged, alive, and it thrummed along with the rush of blood pulsating in my ears.
“I can’t afford to fall apart,” I said, breathless.“Not now.Not ever again.”I was sure he was close enough to feel the pounding of my heart.
“I’m not asking you to,” he said softly.“I just don’t want to pretend this doesn’t matter.”His hand lifted, hovering near mine, giving me the choice.“We matter.”
I thought of my kids.
Of the life I’d built.
Of how tired I was of pretending I didn’t want more because wanting came with risk.
Blinking, I rolled my bottom lip between my teeth and saw the slight tremble on his full lips.With a long inhale, my gaze roamed upward to search his eyes.
He waited with bated breath as he tipped his head to the right, so I reached for his hand.
A slight smirk tickled the edges of a growing smile.He threaded his fingers through mine, the contact warm and steady, like it had always belonged there.
“Anna,” he murmured.
I closed the distance between us, heart pounding but sure.
He tipped his head further and lowered it to mine.
The kiss wasn’t urgent.
It hovered there first, his mouth close enough to feel the warmth of his breath.
He hesitated.
I tipped forward enough that our lips met, softly, almost reverently.The contact sent a low ache through me, not because it deepened, but because it didn’t.Because itcould have.
His hands cupped my cheeks, steady but careful, like he was holding something fragile, and maybe he was..
I threaded my fingers through his thick dark hair, and the wanting in me flared so sharply it almost hurt.
I.Wanted.Him.
