I wiped my hands on the dish towel one final time. When I briefly caught my hazy reflection in the dark kitchen window, I wondered what Eric saw when he looked at me.
I walked down the hallway before my brain could answer that question. Pausing at the guest room door, I raised my hand to knock, heart beating out a quickened cadence against my ribs. It was the moment—I was choosing between the careful half-life I'd built and whatever messy, uncertain future might be possible with Eric.
The floorboards creaked beneath my weight. On the other side of the door, pages stopped turning.
I knocked twice.
"Come in."
Eric didn't sound surprised. Had he been expecting me?
The door handle felt cold beneath my palm as I turned it, stepping into lamplight that transformed the spartan guest room into something warmer. Eric sat cross-legged on the narrow bed, a thick paperback balanced on his knee. The book's spine readCoastal Ecosystems in Transition—an academic tome that would have looked boring as hell in anyone else's hands.
He'd changed into flannel sleep pants and a thin t-shirt that stretched tight across his chest, outlining muscles I'd felt beneath my palms twenty-four hours ago. Desire washed over me, causing one hand to tremble.
"Hey." He closed the book carefully, thumb marking his place before setting it aside on the nightstand.
I stood in the doorway like an idiot, suddenly aware of my arms and how they hung at my sides, unsure what to do with limbs that felt too long for my body. The confident stride that had carried me down the hallway evaporated the moment I saw him, replaced by awkward uncertainty.
"We should talk." My words were rough like sandpaper, unfamiliar with serious conversations about relationships. "About last night."
Eric unfolded his legs and stood like he was bracing for impact. He took one step closer. "Okay. What about it?"
I'd rehearsed the moment briefly while scrubbing dishes and planned out reasonable words to explain my thoughts. I lost them in the fog of my awareness of standing so close to him.
Instead, I focused on how the lamplight caught the gold threads in his hair and how his t-shirt rode up to reveal a strip of pale skin above his waistband. His breathing quickened audibly.
I finally managed a few words. "I'm not good at this—talking about things that matter and letting people close enough to—" My voice failed.
Eric relaxed slightly. "You don't have to explain anything, Wes. If last night was a mistake—"
"It wasn't." I bit my lip. "It wasn't a mistake. That's the problem."
"How is that a problem?"
I dragged my fingers through my hair. I was so unprepared for wanting someone badly enough that every instinct screamed at me to run while every nerve ending begged me to stay.
"Because I don't want to keep pretending it didn't happen. I can't go back to acting like you're just some researcher passing through when the truth is—"
I stopped again. Eric waited patiently.
He prompted me. "The truth is what?"
"The truth is you've been here over two weeks, and I already can't imagine this place without you."
For a heartbeat, Eric looked like he might back away. Then, he spread his stance slightly, anchoring him in place.
"We don't have to talk right now." He stepped closer, eliminating the distance between us. His hand found my chest,palm flat against my sternum. "We can talk later. Right now, I just want—"
He rose onto his toes and kissed me, cutting off our conversation.
He'd moved first.
That alone pierced my heart. For all his warmth and light, Eric had been dancing around this as carefully as I had, but in that moment—when it counted—he was the brave one.
I actively leaned into the kiss, one hand coming up to cup the back of his neck. His mouth was warm and tasted faintly of mint toothpaste, familiar and foreign all at once.
The kiss deepened in fits and starts, more discovery than domination. I wasn't sure whose teeth knocked into whose, but it made us both pause and try again, slower. His lips were soft and searching, the kind of kiss that didn't demand, just askedis this okay?without words.
