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I wait for him to say more.

It's nice. It's sweet. It's what I would've done for you.

But instead, he just stands there, letting his hands slide over the black granite. "Thank you."

I smile and reach into the plastic bag. "So all of these are natural sleep aids. Magnesium. Herbal tea."

"Lavender?" He arches a brow, pulling the lid off the candle and bringing it to his nose.

"It's calming."

"It's girlie."

I tip my chin down and click my tongue. "It'll help. You need to sleep."

Jace blows out a breath. "It's really not that bad."

He's lying, and I know it. And I'm pretty sure he knows I know it. But Jace has always been that way—feeling a lot, saying a little.

I pull the last item from the bag and slide the pill bottle toward him as he continues holding the candle like he's not entirely sure what to do with it.

"It should just help you wind down. I'm sure being a star athlete is stressful."

He rolls his eyes playfully.

I huff out a laugh before growing more serious. "You probably have a lot on your mind."

I could explain—Vienna, his parents. Me, maybe—or our past at least.

But I don't need to. The way Jace's jaw tics tells me he gets it.

"It's worse after games," he admits, leaning his palms on the island.

I nod. "That's the adrenaline. Normally you'd crash eventually. Your body might just need a little help coming down."

Maybe it's the mention of his body—his fit, toned, somehow-even-better-but-definitely-off-limits kind of body. Or maybe it's just that this is the first real conversation we've had in longer than a passing moment.

Either way, something shifts between us.

Not the usual weirdness. Not the awkwardness that comes with six years and a messy ending.

Something else.

A pull.

Like now that I'm standing in his kitchen, talking about more than leaves and the weather, he's really noticing me. Older. More grown.

And I'm definitely noticing him.

"You can try journaling too," I say, attempting to ease the moment. "Stretching and mobility training can help. Maybe take a warm shower—not in the locker room—with calm music and dim lights…"

My voice fades when I realize I'm doing it again—talking about his body and his hygiene habits without even meaning to.

Jace tilts his head slightly but doesn't say anything.

My gaze snaps to his. "What?"

His eyes narrow, his fingers tapping once against the island. "Nothing," he says, standing straighter and sliding his hands into the pockets of his joggers. "You're just really invested in this, huh?"