Page 21 of Bunker Down, Baby

“Let me guess,” he says. “That’s when I earn sticker privileges?”

I grin. “No stickers. But maybe a tour. Maybe a movie.”

He watches me for a long second. Then he says, almost too quiet, “You really believe it’s coming, don’t you?”

I meet his gaze without blinking. “Oh, Evan. It’s already here.”

And for the first time since I brought him home, he doesn’t argue.

He just sits there, watching me. Quiet now. Like some corner of him is actually listening. Or maybe like he’s just waiting to see what kind of madness I pull next.

I cross the room slowly, flicking the lights to low. I like the glow it casts, dim, soft, almost romantic, if you squint past the industrial walls and the handcuff he was chained to a few hours ago.

“You need anything else before lights-out?” I ask, glancing back at him.

He’s still sitting on the bed, legs stretched out in front of him, one hand curled around the edge of the blanket like he’s not sure if he wants to pull it up or toss it off. Then he stands.

Just like that, he’s up, moving toward me, and my breath catches because… well, damn.

He’s clean now. Comfortable. Not cuffed.

And he’s looking at me like maybe he doesn’t hate this quite as much as he should.

“No more fries?” he asks.

I snort. “We just ate, don’t be greedy.”

He’s close now. Just a step away. His voice drops lower. “Bathroom’s fully stocked?”

“Everything you need.” My throat’s dry. “Your shampoo. Soap. Toothbrush. Ribbon floss. And a fresh pair of lounge pants.”

“Flannel?” he teases, mouth quirking.

“You know it,” I say.

He nods. “Then I guess I’m good.”

I’m about to turn away, about to do the responsible thing and leave, give him space and a locked door and exactly the distance that proves I’m trustworthy in a totally-you-can-absolutely-sleep-here-and-not-die way.

But he steps closer, and he says, voice so low it brushes along my nerves like silk, “Goodnight, Maple.”

And then he leans down, and kisses me.

Not wild. Not hungry. Just soft. Intentional. A warm press of lips that has absolutely no business being this intimate.

I freeze.

Not because I don’t want it, but because I do. So much. Too much.

And for one perfect second, I feel it.

I feel everything I’ve been working for, the plan, the prep, the thousands of ways I imagined this playing out, and it’s this. It’s him. Not fighting. Not yelling. Not panicking.

Just… kissing me goodnight.

When he pulls back, my heart is racing.

“Sweet dreams,” he murmurs, and then he turns, walks back to the bed, and climbs in like he didn’t just fry every single one of my neurons.

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