Page 239 of Override

Even if...God help me...I already know what I'll do if she doesn't. I'll chase her. Not because she owes me anything. Because she deserves to know that someone can love her without asking her to become someone else first.

That thought should concern me. Instead...It feels inevitable. Like sunrise. Like gravity. Like Matt reaching for Rachel's hand without looking because he already knows she'll be there. For the first time in my life...I understand him.

Movement pulls me back to the present.

Rachel is already walking toward the door, collecting the empty ice cream bowls from the nightstand.

She pauses beside me just long enough to bump my shoulder with hers. "I'll call you tomorrow, Maeve." Then, quieter as she passes me..."I'll see you later, Keaton."

I nod, though I don't actually hear most of it. My attention never leaves Maeve. Green eyes. A nervous smile. A tiny crease between her eyebrows that only appears when she's overthinking.

She's beautiful. Not because of the way she looks. Because she's standing in the middle of a room she'd rebuilt for me. I close the distance between us. Slowly. Giving her every chance to step away if she wants to.

She doesn't. I brush my fingers beneath her chin before leaning down and kissing her.

It's gentle. Unhurried. The kind of kiss that says everything I can't.

When I pull back, she smiles. "I didn't think you'd be back tonight."

I tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, letting my fingertips linger against the softness of her skin. "We finished earlier than expected."

"The mission?"

I nod. "The target never crossed state lines."

"So..." Her smile grows. "...you wanted to come home early?"

I meet her eyes. "No." Another slow stroke of my thumb across her cheek. "I wanted to come home to you."

Maeve's smile falters, not from sadness, but from the weight of what I just said. She searches my face as though she's trying to decide whether I understand what those words mean.

I do. Maybe not every consequence. But every feeling.

She steps into me without another word, her forehead resting lightly against my chest. My arms find her automatically, holding her the way they always seem to now—as though my body has already accepted what my mind only admitted a few minutes ago.

Home.

She breathes deeply, a long, soft exhale that vibrates straight through me.

I don't move. I just hold her, letting the silence of the apartment settle around us. The air in this room smells different now. It doesn't smell like cold dust or lingering ghosts. It smells like her soap. Like clean cotton. Like her.

"Keaton?" she whispers into my shirt.

"Yeah?"

"Are you going to sleep in here tonight?"

My brain doesn't need to run a single calculation. "Only if you're in the bed with me."

She pulls back just enough to look at me, her green eyes dark and soft in the warm glow of the lamp she’d chosen. "I rebuilt it for us."

The word hits me right in the center of my chest. Us.

My hands move to the hem of her sweater. I don't pull it up. I just hook my thumbs into the soft knit, my knuckles brushing the bare skin above her hips. I keep my eyes locked on hers, my voice dropping low, steady, and deliberate.

"I want to worship you, Maeve. In our bed and to take my time. I want to look at every inch of you...because I never want to forget what it feels like to have you here."

A faint shudder runs through her, her hands sliding up my chest to frame my neck. "Please."