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‘Shaved parmesan and cracked pepper.’
‘It’s delicious.’
Considering Ash never had anyone cook much for him, I know he must have taken a lot of time to learn how to do it, and how to do it well. As he has likely lived alone since moving out of his dad’s house, he probably experimented with his cooking and got even better at it.
His gaze doesn’t waver. ‘You look comfortable,’ he says.
I glance down at myself wearing his shirt, seated at his counter, my hands around the bowl. ‘It’s easy to feel comfortable around you.’
He smiles at that – a warm, genuine smile – appearing young and boyish, like the Ash I remember.
‘I feel the same way.’
He pushes off the counter and steps closer, slowly enough that I have time to stop him. I don’t. He reaches out, his thumb brushing a wrinkle from the hem of the shirt where it bunches at my thigh, the touch casual, familiar, like he’s done it a hundred times before.
‘Eat,’ he murmurs.
‘You too.’
Smiling, he reaches for his own bowl and begins to eat. When he sets it down, he doesn’t move away right away. He just looks at me, like he’s weighing something up, then steps in close, settling himself between my knees.
His hands slide to my waist, and his mouth finds mine. He devours my lips with his. My breath stutters, and I lean into him without thinking. Kissing him feels natural, like muscle memory never forgotten. That’s when it hits me: how much I have missed this. Not just his mouth, or his hands, but the way he makes me feel like nothing else in the world exists. Everything has felt slightly off without him. The emptiness I’ve tried not to name curls tightly in my chest, sudden and aching.
I kiss him harder, needing him to feel it too. He makes a sound against my mouth and slides one hand up my back, holding me there like he’s been waiting for this exact moment.
When we finally pull apart, I rest my head against his collarbone. His heartbeat is fast underneath my cheek; he is just as affected by me as I am by him.
‘I didn’t realise how much I missed you,’ I admit softly.
His grip tightens around me. He presses a kiss to my temple, his lips warm and soft.
‘I did,’ he murmurs.
The way he says it, calm and certain, makes me understand that the emptiness wasn’t one-sided. That whatever this is between us has been stretching taut the whole time we were apart, desperate for us to finally close the distance again.
‘You look tired,’ he observes, stroking my cheek.
‘You wore me out.’
He breathes a laugh, stepping back. ‘Let’s get you to sleep then.’
It doesn’t occur to me that I have nothing with me. I simply don’t care and don’t want to leave. Ash takes my hand and leads me back to his bed. We crawl into it, and he pulls the covers up around us and hugs me in close, my back fitting easily against his chest, exactly how we used to sleep. His arm wraps around my waist, firm and steady, his hand resting just below my ribs. His chin settles at the crown of my head, and I feel him breathing me in. My fingers curl around his wrist – a small, instinctive gesture – and he responds by pulling me closer.
I feel safe – deeply, undeniably safe – in a way that I haven’t for a long time. Contentment spreads through me, soft and heavy, sinking into my bones. If this is what it feels like to belong somewhere, I understand why I’ve been restless without him. As sleep creeps in, his thumb traces slow, absent circles against my side, as if he’s making sure I’m real. Wrapped in the dark and his warmth, I drift off into a deep, restful sleep for the first time in what feels like forever.
29
BRYN
Five Years Ago
Ash sneaking in is more common than not, but right now the thought of him following me makes my stomach knot. I’m halfway up the stairs when I hear the back door open.
‘Bryn,’ he whispers urgently.
I don’t stop. I reach my room, close the door behind me, and move to my bed, trying to breathe. A second later, he’s there, slipping inside my room like he’s done a hundred times before.
‘Hey,’ he says, keeping his voice low. ‘Please. Let me explain.’
