Page 135 of The Gaybor War

I step closer. Not touching. Just enough that he must look at me.

"I told you before, I don’t do halfway," I say quietly. "Not with work. Not with life. And definitely not with feelings. If I’m here, I’m all in."

His eyes search my face, vulnerability flickering beneath the sarcasm. God, he’s beautiful—and mine. He’s all mine.

"That’s terrifying."

"Good. It should be."

He laughs weakly. "You’re such a control freak."

"True."

"And you’re saying all this over a four-dollar drink."

"Also true."

For a moment, neither of us moves. Then he exhales, shoulders dropping.

"God help me, I’m all in too."

Before I can respond, he steps forward and kisses me. His hands slide into my hair, mouth warm and sure and a little desperate, like he’s afraid I might disappear if he doesn’t hold on. I kiss him back, stroking his tongue, grounding him. Telling him without words that I’m not going anywhere.

When we pull apart, he rests his forehead against mine.

"I don’t want an exit ramp," he murmurs.

"Good."

"Because I’m terrible at goodbyes."

"I know."

He smiles softly. "Okay, Lemon Berry Sparkler Man."

Something in my chest loosens. "Yeah?"

"You’re officially my go-to."

I kiss him again, smiling into his mouth. "This is going to cost me in ways I can’t begin to imagine, isn’t it?"

"You bet."

Perfect. For the first time since this ridiculous thing started, the future doesn’t feel like something I need to control. It feels like something I want to walk into.

Together.

And face whatever comes next.

And with Benji, there’s no telling what that may be. But I’m ready.

Benji is sitting on one of my barstools, wearing my socks with the same casual entitlement he brings to everything else in my life.

He’s curled around a mug of coffee I made, flipping through the Morningwood Monthly while I work the stove. Pancakes in neat, identical circles. Bacon aligned precisely on the paper towel. Sunday breakfast done correctly.

"Shall we begin?" he asks.

I don’t bother to turn. "If this includes the words ‘erected’ or ‘excessive inflation,’ I’m sending you home."