Page 41 of Secrets

“Wow.” My voice barely more than a whisper as I drop my hands, noticing how my fingertips tingle from the separation.

The smile that claims her lips is slow and gradual.How the hell is her lipstick still flawless?“Wow, indeed, Agent.”

It takes entirely too long for my pulse to regulate to a pace that doesn’t have me holding on to the nearby counter for dear life, and even longer to move more than a few inches away from her.

Elena seemingly feels the same because as her eyes scan my face, a pleased look consumes hers. I remain speechless, trying my hardest not to attack her with my mouth again, only this time with the intent of kissing her everywhere.

“So, what are we baking?” She finally says after another once over, reaching up and lightly tucking a stray hair behind my ear. Her index finger lingers along the shell, igniting a fire low in my stomach.

“I-I found a sourdough pizza recipe I thought we could try.” My voice cracks as if I haven’t used it in a year. I have to clear it twice before motioning to the set up behind me, still not backing away. “Have lots of toppings all ready to go.”

Elena smirks, as if not even slightly moved after stealing my entire soul through her tongue. “Is the sourdough another fixation?”

This coaxes a light giggle from me that hits the small coil of hair by her ear. “You know, I think this is the only thing in my life that isn’t.”

Her brows tick together as she peers deeper into my eyes, trying to find the answer without asking. But before she can, I answer the unasked question, finally putting a few inches between us.

“My mom made a loaf on Sundays, and in between, every discard recipe you could possibly think of.” The back of my throat gets that tickle it always does when I talk about her, but I manage to grin at Elena as I say the next part. “As weird as it sounds, that little jar of sourdough came from hers and now feels as though it carries a part of her.”

Elena’s face takes on a softer demeanor, her shoulders relaxing as an empathic smile curves her lips. Lips I very much want to kiss again. “I know precisely what you mean.” She tips her head to the TV stand behind me. “That pothos was a cutting from one of my mother’s oldest plants.”

The discomfort in my throat morphs to a sharp burn behind my eyes, my heart somehow growing a whole freaking size.

Thisis what I was talking about. This is what shows me that for all that Elena is on the surface, she is ten million times more beneath it. She is caring, observant, endearing, strong and so, so,somany other things. She is…everything.

And it makes me realize that all my worries and fears about being hurt don’t matter. Not really. Not when it’s so clear we carry similar burdens.

As scary as this may seem and while I’m not sure where this thing is going to lead, I know I want her.

I want her in every single way that matters. I want to experience more of what she’s given me snippets of, and so much more of what’s behind the thick curtains.

How I’ll make that happen, I have no fucking clue, but I can start with dinner.

I shouldn’t have let her kiss me. EvenIknew that was cruel. And with only ten days left, I need to act now before I allow her to do anything else. Like make me question if I can even do this.

Because if I answer that question honestly, it would mean my death.

Elena has completely taken over the portion of my mind where anger once lived. She curled it in her perfectly manicured fist and squeezed the life out of it before throwing it into the void, and replacing it with herself.

Incredibly unhealthy, I’m well aware, but fuck, this feeling of freedom, of pining and desire, is so overwhelmingly amazing, I can’t find it in me to care. Everything with her is so unhurried, which makes it even sweeter. There’s no rush to do anything. No urgency.

Every touch, every glance, every conversation, it’s as though time slows and each moment is that much more incredible. Moresatisfying.

And not to jump the gun or anything, but I want this to last. Like genuinely. I don’t want the quick high that comes from one night stands, or the guilt from ghosting people who can’t hold my interest. Surface level conversations, meaningless connections, and fake laughter have fed my quick endorphin fix for so long that I forgot there was anything else—anything more—until Elena.

Every earned smile feels like such a fucking accomplishment, I’m giddy hours after. Every minor detail she shares about her or her life feels like I’ve cracked the code on the world’s most encrypted file.

She’s made me realize there is beauty in delayed gratification.

Fulfillment in anticipated moments.

Pleasure in longing…

“Ready?” Jenna slumps against my desk, stealing my attention. “I’ve had the worst fucking day.”

I nod, clicking send on an email before logging out. Glancing at the time, I realize I’ve had this email written for an hour before getting lost in thought about Elena, so I welcome the distraction. “What happened?”

Jenna shrugs, tugging her hair from her bun. Her onyx locks fall haphazardly over her shoulder, the deep crease in the middle causes it to flair out in different directions. “Tom’s being an ass. The cops I got called on a case for were also being assholes,andI broke my freaking middle fingernail.”

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