Page 32 of The Hang Up
Dinner is… easy. Comfortable. She orders gnocchi, I get the lasagna, and we share bites across the table like we used to. I make her laugh twice, and every time her eyes crinkle, it does something dangerous to my chest.
We don’t talk about heavy stuff. Not yet.
Instead, we talk about the ridiculous new ceramic pieces Arlowe ordered, how Auden’s planning an engagement party without losing her mind, and the old man who comes into the shop every day to buy a single sugar cookie and tell a story no one asked for.
It’s familiar. Normal.
And for the first time in what feels like forever, normal doesn’t feel boring. It feels like the best thing in the world.
After we finish dessert—tiramisu, Lena’s favorite—I drive her back to my place. She slips her shoes off the second we walk in and drops her coat over the back of the couch.
I watch her move around my living room like she belongs here.
Maybe she does.
She turns toward me slowly, her eyes darker now, voice softer. “Thanks for dinner.”
“You’re welcome,” I say, stepping closer.
She meets me halfway. Her hands slip into the front of my hoodie, fingers curling in the fabric like she’s pulling me toward her.
Then her lips brush mine.
It’s gentle at first.
Testing.
But the second I wrap my arms around her, she melts into me.
Her mouth opens under mine, and I groan, lifting her off the ground and walking us back to my bedroom like it’s the only place we’ve ever belonged.
I don’t flick on the lights.
I don’t need to see her to know where every curve, every freckle is located on her beautiful body.
Her sweater comes off first, followed by my hoodie. Our shoes are lost somewhere between the hallway and the bed, and I don’t even care.
All I care about is her.
Touching her. Tasting her. Making her forget every single ache she’s ever carried in her chest.
She kisses me like she’s starving. Like she’s been waiting for this moment for years.
Maybe she has.
I know I have.
When she’s under me, skin bare and glowing in the moonlight spilling through the curtains, I pause.
She brushes her fingers over my jaw, her breath catching. “What?”
“I missed you,” I whisper. “So damn much.”
“I know,” she whispers. “Me, too.”
I kiss her again, slowly, deeply, reverently until everything else fades.
We move together like we’ve never been apart.
