The moment I open her bedroom door, she’s there.
Mac stands at her vanity, her damp hair clinging to her back in heavy waves. She’s changed into a soft pair of pyjamas—Braden’s old t-shirt, by the look of it, and a pair of cotton shorts—and she looks over her shoulder as I walk in.
Her hair is dripping onto the fabric. Without a word, I walk over, grab the hairdryer, and sit on the edge of her bed.
“Come here,” I murmur.
She raises a brow. “You’re gonna dry my hair?”
“I’m gonna do it right. Sit.”
She does, settling between my legs on the floor, and I gently finger-comb through the wet strands before switching the dryer on. The soft hum fills the room as I guide it over her hair, my fingers brushing through it, untangling each knot with care. I catch her watching me in the mirror—eyes soft, lips curled—and I don’t look away.
When her hair is mostly dry, I turn off the dryer and reach for the brush, pulling it through her waves slowly. She sighs again, closing her eyes for a moment like she’s letting herself fall into this, into us.
Then, a knock at the door makes us both freeze.
“Go get the door. I’ll pick a movie.”
I chuckle, raking a hand through my damp hair as I make my way out of her room and down the stairs. The knock comes again—this time more insistent—and I call out, “I’m comin’.”
I swing the door open and the delivery guy gives me a once-over. “Uh—pizza?”
I smirk. “Yeah, man. Thanks.”
I pay, grab the box, and snag the sodas we ordered before heading back up. The scent of melted cheese and garlic fills the hallway, but nothing prepares me for the sight that greets me when I push the bedroom door open.
Mac is curled up on her bed, her hair now fluffy and dry, the glow of the screen casting soft light across her face. Her legs are tucked beneath her, remote in hand, and she looks up at me with a little smile that hits me square in the chest.
“I went with The Notebook,” she says, cocking her head. “Felt like the right amount of tears and swoon.”
I set the pizza down on the bed beside her and lean over to press a kiss to her forehead. “Perfect choice.”
And maybe it’s the way she scoots over to make room for me, or the way her fingers graze mine as she takes her slice, but suddenly, this doesn’t feel like just a night in.
She curls closer as the opening credits roll, the flickering light from the TV dancing across her face. I ease myself behind her, propping a few pillows behind my back and wrapping one arm loosely around her shoulders. Her body relaxes instantly, like we’ve done this a thousand times before.
We have... Just not like this.
I press a kiss to the crown of her head, breathing her in. Lavender and vanilla.
Her fingers toy with the hem of my joggers absently, like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it. But I do. Every brush of her skin sets something alight inside me. Still, I don’t push.
“ This is nice,” she whispers, voice barely audible over the soft hum of the film.
I glance down at her. “The movie?”
She shakes her head slowly. “You.”
That one word punches through my ribs like it’s always been meant to find its way back home. I let out a breath and press my forehead to her temple.
She lets out a little laugh, soft and breathless. “I used to dream about this when I was a kid. You and me, grown up. Sharing pizza. Watching movies. Maybe kissing a little.”
I smirk. “Just a little?”
She bites her bottom lip, cheeks flushed. “Okay, maybe a lot.”
My hand slides gently down to rest over her waist, mindful of her sore ribs, my voice dropping to a whisper as I say, “Well then… I guess we’ve still got time to make those dreams come true.”
