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“Maybe not.”

He looks up sharply.

I smile.

“You’re older. Grumpier. You swear more, which is honestly impressive considering your previous vocabulary.”

“Watch it.”

“And you’ve apparently developed an unhealthy obsession with black clothing.”

“Autumn.”

“But you’re still you, Gray.”

He stares at me.

I move closer.

Close enough that our knees touch.

“You’re still the man who shows up in a storm to save my bakery. The man who remembers how I take my coffee. The man who pretends to hate my jokes but laughs anyway.”

“Your jokes are terrible.”

“See? Exactly the same.”

His mouth twitches.

I lean in.

Slowly.

Giving him every opportunity to pull away.

He doesn’t.

Our lips meet.

And the world tilts.

For a second, he’s perfectly still.

Then his hand slides behind my neck, and he kisses me back.

Hard.

Hungry.

Like he’s spent ten years starving and I’ve just offered him the first decent meal of his life.

I make a helpless little sound against his mouth.

He growls.

Actually growls.

Then he pulls me onto his lap.