I glanced back at him, one eyebrow raised.
“You don’t want me to believe you?”
He shook his head so fast I worried for his neck. “No, that’s not—I do. I just didn’t think you’d—” He gestured vaguely. “That fast. I didn’t think you’d do it that fast.”
I stopped walking and turned to face him fully.
“What, did you have another speech prepared?”
Silence.
He went very still. His gaze darted left, then right, before settling somewhere over my shoulder. I crossed my arms.
“You did have a speech prepared.”
“I don’t have to answer that.”
The words were muffled, directed at the pavement.
A smile broke across my face, completely unstoppable.
“You really are something, Cassian.”
I shook my head and turned, continuing toward my car. His footsteps quickened. He reached the driver’s-side door just ahead of me and pulled it open with a flourish.
“I hope it’s a good something,” he said, his voice soft, hopeful.
“Haven’t decided yet.”
He smiled. That soft, unguarded smile that transformed his whole face. Then he stepped forward. His hands lifted, reaching for my face, and I instinctively leaned back.
“What are you doing?”
He blinked. His hands dropped to his sides like they’d been burned.
“Uh. Nothing.”
“Cassian.”
He sighed, a long exhale of resignation.
“I was going to kiss your forehead.”
I stared at him, startled.
The last time he’d done that—in my apartment, after the fever, after the tears, after everything—I’d let him. Because it had been a heightened situation. He’d taken care of me, cooked for me, broken down in front of me. Emotions had been running so high they’d flooded every normal boundary.
But today was different.
“It was a one-time thing,” I said. “Things between us are good right now. Civil. Let’s not ruin that. Okay?”
He looked down at the pavement, then at his shoes, at anything but me. The silence stretched.
“Cassian. I need to hear if you understand.”
His eyes lifted to mine.
They were calm, accepting, with just a flicker of something softer underneath.