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We moved to the porch without discussion, drawn by the morning sun and the need for fresh air. The swing creaked as we settled into it, maintaining careful distance that somehow kept shrinking.

“Can I ask you something?” he said.

“Go ahead.”

“That night you came to my house with the note Garrett left. You could’ve called the cops. You could’ve called your lawyer. You came to me. Why?”

I stared at the disaster of my garden, trying to find words for something I hadn’t let myself examine.

“Because you felt safe.” I turned to face him, finding him closer than expected. “Because lately, when I’m scared, you’re the first person I think of. Because…”

“Because?”

“Because I know you’ll show up.”

He looked at me with an expression I couldn’t decipher. Intensity, want without demand. His hand moved to the swing chain near mine, fingers barely brushing.

“Sam…”

“I know. This is complicated and I’m fresh off a divorce and you have Noa to think about and…”

“I was going to say you have syrup on your face.”

Oh my god. “What?”

He reached over, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth. The touch lasted a heartbeat longer than necessary, his eyes tracking the movement.

“There,” he whispered.

I leaned forward without thinking. He met me halfway, faces close enough to share breath, noses touching in the lightest contact. My eyes fluttered closed. His hand moved to cup my jaw, thumb stroking once, twice…

A car backfired down the street.

We jerked apart like teenagers caught by parents. My heart hammered against my ribs while he ran a hand through his hair, messing it thoroughly.

“That’s…” He cleared his throat. “That’s probably my guys. For your bathroom.”

“Right. The bathroom.”

“The tile came in yesterday.”

“Good. That’s good.”

We stared at each other, the almost-kiss hanging between us heavier than any actual contact could have been. His work truck rumbled into view, loaded with supplies and crew members who definitely didn’t need to see their boss playing house with a client.

“I should go supervise,” he said, not moving.

“Probably smart.” I nodded.

“Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“For what it’s worth? I’m glad he signed. You deserve to be free.”

Free. The word should have felt liberating. Instead, sitting there with maple syrup and missed chances between us, I just felt untethered. Garrett’s signature had cut the last rope to my old life. Now I was floating, no anchor except the steady presence of a man I couldn’t let myself want.

Not yet.