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Her mouth curves against my shoulder. “Thank you for the warning.”

“I figured you might like to know before your feet hit the floor.”

“That’s very considerate.”

The hint of laughter in her voice loosens something inside me that has been pulled tight since she walked around the kitchen island. I lower her carefully until her bare feet meet the rug beside the bed, keeping one hand at her waist until I’m sure she’s steady. I let my arm fall away and take a step back, giving her enough room to decide whether she wants to close the distance again.

She doesn’t, letting her gaze drift slowly around the room, and I find myself seeing it through her eyes for the first time. There isn’t much to look at. The comforter on my bed is still rumpled from this morning, a paperback rests face down on the nightstand with a receipt tucked between the pages, and a half-empty glass of water sits beside the lamp where I forgot about it hours ago. None of it has ever seemed worth noticing until now‌.

She doesn’t snoop or inspect anything too closely. She simply looks like she’s trying to understand me through the pieces of my life I never thought twice about leaving out in the open.

“What?” I ask, unable to help myself.

“I’m just realizing this is the first place I’ve seen that actually feels like you.” She glances around the room once more before looking back at me. “Everything else I’ve learned about you tonight came from the things you chose to tell me. This is just you when no one’s looking.”

I’ve spent so much of my life being watched that I’d forgotten there was a difference between the person people saw and the one who came home at the end of the day. She found it anyway, not by digging through pieces of my life that didn’t belong to her, but by paying attention to the things I never considered hiding.

She takes one slow step away from the nightstand before stopping near the end of the bed, her fingers brushing lightly over the folded blanket as she looks at me again. Every instinct I have urges me to erase the distance between us, but wanting her doesn’t give me the right to decide what happens next. I refuse to let the bed behind her turn the yes she gave me in the kitchen into permission I stop asking for.

“You can still change your mind.”

Her head lifts almost immediately, as though the words surprise her. “I haven’t.”

“I know.”

A faint crease appears between her brows, confusion replacing the uncertainty that lingered there a moment ago. “Then why do you keep asking?”

There’s no accusation in her voice. If anything, she looks like she’s waiting for me to explain a rule no one ever bothered to teach her.

“Because changing your mind is allowed.”

She studies me without speaking, her eyes searching my face for the catch I haven’t given her.

“I wanted to kiss you in the kitchen; you let me. I wanted to bring you in here, so I asked, and you said yes.” I hold her gaze, refusing to let the truth become anything less than what it is. “But saying yes before doesn't mean you have to say yes again.”

She doesn’t answer right away. She only looks at me, and when she finally breathes again, her shoulders rise and fall more slowly than they had a moment ago. “You really mean that.”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

“No,” she murmurs, her voice softer than before. “I mean…you really don’t expect anything from me because I came in here.”

I don’t know who taught her that walking into a man’s bedroom meant giving up the right to choose what happened next, and I don’t need to know. I take a single step toward her before stopping again. When I lift my hand, I wait until her eyes meet mine, giving her every chance to tell me no, but she doesn’t.

“You don’t owe me a single thing.”

Her eyes close almost instantly as my fingers brush her cheek. She leans into my touch as if she’s been searching for somewhere safe to rest all day.

“Even if I stay?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Especially if you stay.”

Her hand lifts slowly, giving me the same choice I’ve been giving her all night. Her palms settle against my chest moments before she rises onto her toes, her eyes never leaving mine. “I’m not changing my mind.”

Relief rushes through me with enough force that I have to swallow around it. I don’t reach for her; I wait until her mouth finds mine. The first touch of her mouth against mine is softer than the kiss we shared in the kitchen, slow and unhurried. My lips move with hers, matching the gentle rhythm she sets instead of chasing something deeper, and when she sighs quietly against my mouth, the sound nearly undoes me.

I wait until she leans fully into the kiss before letting my hands settle at her waist, and she closes the remaining space between us. When we finally part, neither of us moves very far. She lets her chin rest against my chest, and when I glance down, she’s already smiling.

“I should probably take these off,” she murmurs, lifting one wrist between us. “I’d hate for one of them to become a weapon. I don’t think you understand how dangerous they are.”