“Okay,” I whisper.
He presses his forehead to mine. “We’re not going to rush this. Love doesn’t have to prove itself in heat. Sometimes the most powerful thing you can do…is wait.”
I nod again, eyes stinging.
Then, as if on cue, a loud crack splits the silence. The lamp flickers—and dies.
Ablown bulb.
I shriek. He jumps.
And just like that, we’re both laughing, tangled in a ridiculous heap of limbs and nerves on my living room floor.
“I’m pretty sure that was God telling us to cool it,” I say between giggles.
Gray grins, rolling onto his back. “Honestly? Can’t even be mad about it.”
Chapter 25
Gray
I push off the floor, stretching my arms overhead until my back gives a quiet crack. Ivy’s already on her feet, gathering our plates, and I trail her into the kitchen. The room falls into that soft, lingering silence as if the night is winding down but doesn’t quite want to end.
She moves toward the sink, reaching for the faucet, but I step in before she can turn it on. My hand brushes over hers. “Uh-uh,” I say with a grin. “You cook, I clean. House rules.”
She lifts a brow at me. “House rules? This isn’t even your house.”
I laugh and nudge her aside with my hip. “Doesn’t matter. Rules are rules.”
I roll up my sleeves, water already running, and reach for the sponge. The ink on my arms catches the light, and for a second I wonder if she’s watching. When I glance her way, sure enough—she’s leaning back against the counter, arms crossed, studying me like I just turned into a science project.
I shake my head, trying not to smile as I rinse each plate.Old habit, really—scrub, rinse, rack. Stack the cups upside down. Shake off the water so they dry faster. It’s the kind of muscle memory you don’t forget when you’ve spent years living alone. Or when doing the dishes was the one thing that made you feel useful during the messiest parts of life.
“You do this often?” she asks, voice laced with curiosity.
I look over my shoulder, catching the surprise on her face. “You act like you’ve never seen a guy do dishes before.”
She smirks. “Not one who actually knows what he’s doing.”
I grab a towel and dry my hands, trying to play it cool. “Guess I’m full of surprises today.”
“You know,” Ivy says, her voice light but laced with something bolder, “a guy who can juggle and do dishes might just be the most attractive thing I’ve ever seen.”
I laugh, the sound echoing off her tiny kitchen walls. “If I’d known dish soap was the key to winning you over, I would’ve started scrubbing on day one.”
She rolls her eyes, but the grin she’s wearing tells me I hit the mark. I can’t help it—teasing her feels effortless.
“Just saying,” I add, drying the last plate and sliding it onto the rack. “You haven’t even seen my full repertoire. I can fold a fitted sheet.”
She snorts. “No way.”
I place a hand over my heart, as serious as I can manage. “Swear on my life.”
She shakes her head, laughing. It’s soft, real, and tugs something loose in my chest.
“I’m not sure I believe you,” she says.
I dry my hands on the towel and toss it onto the counter, then turn toward her. “Guess you’ll just have to find out.”
