Page 103 of Your Place or Mine

He could also be the only person who understood the language of loss the way I did.

Which might’ve been worse.

Because it meant I couldn’t hate him.

Even when I wanted to.

Even when he pushed and snapped and tried to scare me off with those stormy eyes and that fortress of a personality.

Even now, when I knew more about him than I was supposed to.

I stood, restless again, crossing the small space of my apartment. The late morning sun had slanted across the hardwood floor, dust motes dancing through the air like tiny sparks.

I caught sight of myself in the mirror.

Hair messy.

Lips still a little red.

Eyes… different.

Softer. Wounded. Like I’d glimpsed something I hadn’t meant to.

“Get it together,” I whispered.

But the words held no weight.

Because if I was being honest, truly, brutally honest, I didn’t want to undo what happened in the bar.

I didn’t want to forget how it felt to be kissed like I mattered. Like he couldn’t stop himself. Like everything else…his walls, his grief, the town’s judgment…melted in the heat between us.

But I couldn’t pretend it was simple.

Not when I knew what losing someone like Lucy could do to a man.

Not when I could see the cracks in him that hadn’t fully healed.

And not when I hadn’t told him the truth.

That Iknew.

That I’d been carrying his ghosts without asking for permission.

I dropped back onto the bed, chest tight.

This wasn’t just about a kiss.

This was about trust.

And if I wanted him to give it, I’d have to do the same.

Eventually.

But not today.

Today I’d give us both a minute to breathe.

Even if every part of me was already aching to walk back through that bar door and do it all again.

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