Page 86 of Stolen Harmony
“My lips are sealed,” I said. “Unless she offers me a discount.”
He laughed, the sound bright and real. For a moment, the two of us just stood there, listening to the water, letting the world feel simple for once. Max bounded up with his prize, showering us both with wet dog joy, and Rowan let himself lean in, just enough to let the day feel good.
We didn't speak for a long moment, but the air between us had changed. It felt warmer, denser, charged with possibility that neither of us had acknowledged before. My pulse picked up, and I found myself hyperaware of how close we were standing, of the way the mist from the waterfall had dampened his hair, of the way his breathing had changed to match mine.
This was the moment. The threshold Dr. Fields had talked about, the choice between honesty and safety, between wanting and having. I could feel it approaching like weather, inevitable and transformative and absolutely terrifying.
I took a breath that felt like crossing a line I'd drawn in my own mind, then took a step closer to him. Close enough to see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes, close enough to smell the clean scent of soap on his skin, close enough that when I reached out, my fingers could brush againsthis.
“Rowan,” I said, and his name came out like a prayer.
He turned toward me, and I could see the exact moment when he understood what was happening. His pupils dilated, his lips parted slightly, and his breathing became more deliberate, more aware.
“Elias.” My name in his voice was permission and question and answer all at once.
I leaned in slowly, giving him every chance to move away, to change his mind, to remember all the reasons this was a terrible idea. He didn't. Instead, he met me halfway, his eyes falling closed just before our lips touched.
The kiss was slow and deliberate, no rush or urgency, just the grounding press of mouth against mouth and the weight of everything unsaid pouring into the space between us. He tasted like coffee and possibility, warm and real and absolutely right in ways that made my chest ache with recognition.
His hand came up to cup the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair, and I made a sound that was part relief and part desperation. This was what I'd been wanting without knowing how to name it, what I'd been moving toward since the first time I'd seen him standing in my doorway looking lost and angry and beautiful.
When we parted, it was reluctantly, both of us breathing harder than we had been moments before. The sound of the waterfall was louder again, but I could still feel the warmth of his mouth lingering on mine, could still taste the sweetness of that first real kiss.
“Jesus,” he whispered, his forehead resting against mine.
“Is that good or bad?”
“I don't know.” His voice was rough, strained with emotion I couldn't read. “I've been thinking about this for a while, but now that it's happening...”
“Now that it's happening?”
“Now I'm terrified we're going to destroy each other.”
The honesty in his voice cut straight through every defense I'd built, every rationalization I'd constructed about why this was impossible. Because he was right, wasn't he? We were both carrying enough damage to sink each other, both wounded in ways that made love feel like a luxury we couldn't afford.
But standing there in the mist from the waterfall, with his hand still touching my neck and the taste of him still on my lips, destruction felt like a risk worth taking.
“Maybe we will,” I said, my voice barely audible over the sound of falling water. “Maybe we'll tear each other apart and regret every moment of this. But maybe we won't. Maybe we'll figure out how to heal together instead of drowning separately.”
His eyes searched mine, looking for something I hoped he could find. “You really want to try this? Knowing how complicated it's going to be? Knowing what people will say?”
“I want to try you,” I said, and the words felt like the most honest thing I'd ever spoken. “I want to see what happens when we stop running from this and start running toward it instead.”
He kissed me again, harder this time, with more urgency and less caution. This kiss tasted like decision, like commitment, like the first step off a cliff neither of us could see the bottom of.
When we broke apart, we were both breathing hard, both looking slightly stunned by the magnitude of what we'd just started.
“So what now?” he asked.
“Now we figure it out as we go.” I reached for his hand, lacing our fingers together in a gesture that felt both natural and revolutionary. “One day at a time, one kiss at a time, one choice at a time.”
The waterfall continued its ancient rhythm beside us, indifferent to human complications, indifferent to the fact that two men had just decided to complicate their lives in ways that would probably destroy them both. But for the first time in two years, I felt alive in my own skin, connected to something larger than my own grief.
Chapter 19
One Day at a Time
Rowan
