“See?” he says, giving my hand a little squeeze. “Knew I could get one out of you.”
And just like that, we’re moving down a narrow side street draped in hanging plants and the soft hum of music spilling from an open doorway. His thumb brushes against mine in an absentminded rhythm that feels anything but accidental.
“So,” I say, glancing up at him, “since you’re apparently not a local, what do you think of New Orleans?”
He shrugs. “It’s alright.”
I gasp. “Alright?”
Gray chuckles. “I mean, it’s cool. The food’s great. The history’s wild. But the humidity?” He shudders. “Criminal.”
I laugh. “Okay, fair.” I glance around at the bright awnings and moss-draped balconies. “It has a certain kind of magic, though, doesn’t it? Like, there’s something about this place that makes you want to believe in…I don’t know, fate?”
He doesn’t answer right away. When I look up, he’s already watching me.
“Ivy,” he says softly, “I think you want to believe in fate.”
I start to reply with some quick comeback, but the words vanish.
Because maybe he’s right.
Maybe I do.
Before I can untangle the flutter in my chest, we reach the hotel. The tall building rises behind me, its glass doors gleaming. We stop just outside, the noise of the street blurring around us.
Neither of us moves.
We just…linger.
The silence between us is charged with something we’re both too aware of.
Then, Gray steps closer.
Before I can think, his arms are around me.
I don’t hesitate. I sink into him like I’ve been waiting for this all day. Maybe longer.
His chest rises beneath my cheek. I breathe him in, that oddly satisfying mix of leather and vanilla. My hands hover at his sides, then curl into the fabric of his shirt, holding on.
His breath brushes my ear, low and teasing. “I’m glad you grabbed my hand today, Ivy.”
My pulse stumbles.
“Even if it was a little creepy.”
A laugh bursts out of me, warm and unwilling, and I swat his arm. “You’re the worst.”
That grin—wide, easy—breaks across his face like he just won something. But then it softens, the edges blurring into something quieter. Deeper.
We don’t move. The city spills on around us—laughter, music, the clink of glasses—but it feels like we’re sealed inside our own moment, suspended in the air between us.
His gaze drops briefly to my hand, and for a second, I swear he almost reaches for it again. My heart hammers in anticipation…but then his fingers flex at his side, like he’s decided against it.
Something unspoken passes between us—something that says we could make this more, could close the gap—but neither of us does.
I swallow. “Bye, Gray.”
He holds my gaze, eyes catching the sunlight, and his voice dips low. “Bye, Ivy.”
