Page 53 of One Room Vacancy
That hits harder than it should.
Before I can say anything, she adds, “Forget it. It was a dumb idea.”
Her voice cracks on the worddumb, barely audible over the sizzle in the pan, but I hear it. And suddenly it’s not a joke anymore, not really.
She’s pulling away again, and I’m letting her, because I’m afraid of being wrong. Of pushing too hard, of ruining whatever this is. But maybe not doing anything is ruining it, too.
“Sage.”
She doesn’t look at me.
I step closer. “Sage,” I say again, softer this time. “It wasn’t a dumb idea.”
That gets her. She turns, slowly, guarded but curious. Her eyes meet mine, wary, like she’s bracing for impact.
“I just didn’t want to screw it up,” I say. “But if you meant it—if this is something you want…”
I trail off, because I’m not sure how to finish that sentence without handing her every part of me I’ve been holding back.
She studies me for a long second, like she’s trying to decide if it’s safe to trust this—to trust me.
Then, barely above a whisper:
“I did mean it.”
The room goes still.
She’s looking at me like she’s daring me to call her bluff. Like she won’t say it again if I don’t move now.
But I don’t rush.
I just watch her. Let myself look, really look, at the way her mouth curves with uncertainty, the way her breath catches when I don’t immediately close the distance. And for once, I don’t let the moment scare me off.
I step in.
Close enough to feel her breath mix with mine.
Close enough to see the freckles she hates and the softness in her eyes she tries to cover with sarcasm.
We just stand there, barely touching, like we’re both waiting for the other to make the final move.
And then I do.
I kiss her.
Not like I did outside the bar. Not like all the other times, where it was heat and history and too many tangled nights trying to pretend we didn’t feel anything deeper than lust.
This is slower, still.
Her lips part like a sigh against mine, and I cup her jaw gently, like I’m afraid she’ll vanish if I touch her too hard.
We stay like that for a long time, just kissing, like we’ve got nowhere else to be, like it’s the only language we know.
She presses closer, hands curling in the front of my shirt, and I can feel her heart pounding against my chest. Fast. Unsteady. Just like mine.
When she breaks the kiss to breathe, she doesn’t step back.
Neither do I.
