“Does it now?” she teases.
“It does,” I say, fighting a grin. “I read it somewhere. Very scientific.”
She rolls her eyes. “Fine. It’s green.”
“Green?” I pause, pretending to consider. “Good choice. Very reliable color.”
She squints at me. “Reliable? What does that even mean?”
“You know…dependable, grounded, a little stubborn.”
Her eyes narrow. “Are you just making this up as you go?”
“Absolutely.”
We both laugh, and it’s easy. Effortless. Like I’m not carefully choosing each word, like I’m not fighting the instinct to keep her at arm’s length.
She leans back on her hands, looking over at me. “Alright, your turn.”
“For what?”
Her eyes glimmer with challenge. “Favorite color.”
“Easy, black.”
Her nose scrunches a little, like she’s thinking too hard about it. “Yeah... I figured.”
I raise an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s just...you,” she says, shrugging.
I nod. “I’ll take it.”
She swings her legs as we sit on the tailgate, the quiet night settling around us. Her hand rests casually beside mine, fingers so close they’re almost touching. I don’t think she realizes it, but the edge of her pinky brushes against mine, light as a breath.
I don’t move. I just let it stay like that, the warmth of her skin grounding me.
The breeze we’ve had all evening fades into stillness, and the air feels heavier somehow—like the whole world has leaned in a little closer. She shifts, just enough that her shoulder brushes mine, and I glance down to find her looking at me.
Her eyes linger, searching, and my gaze dips to her mouth—soft, full, the kind of lips that make a man wonder what they’d taste like if he just leaned in a little more. I swallow, my hand lifting almost on its own, fingers brushing the side of her face. Her skin is warm beneath my palm, delicate in a way that makes me want to hold her there forever.
Too soon?The thought slides in, uninvited. I should pull back, give her space—but she doesn’t move away, and the air between us feels charged, like we’re teetering on the edge of something neither of us is ready to name.
Then a drop of rain splashes against my cheek, trailing down like a reminder that the world still exists outside this moment. I glance up at the darkening sky, then back at her.
The easy softness in her expression has shifted, replaced by something tighter. Worry flickers in her eyes, just enough to make me lower my hand, not because I want to, but because I want her to feel safe.
A gust of wind sweeps across the hill, rattling the branches above us and tugging at her hair. I catch the faint scent of rain in the air, sharp and earthy, just as Ivy pulls her phone from her sweater pocket. Her brows knit together as she taps the screen, the glow lighting her worried face.
“Gray…” Her voice is tight. She turns the phone toward me, the radar app showing a thick red line of storms headed straight toward Dallas. “This is bad. Like…really bad.”
Before I can answer, another gust whips past, colder this time, making her flinch. I step off the tailgate and stand in front of her, my hands settling firmly on her shoulders. “Hey.” I wait until her eyes meet mine. “We’re okay. I’ve driven through storms like this before.”
She shakes her head. “You don’t understand—I hate storms. I mean, hate them.”
“It’s ok,” I say softly. “I’m here. You’re not alone in this, Ivy. I’ll get you back to your apartment before it even hits, alright?”
Her breath comes out in a shaky rush, but she nods. I give her shoulders one last squeeze before stepping in closer.
