Turns.
And before I can say a word, she crosses the room, grabs the front of my shirt, and kisses me.
Hard.
No hesitation. No preamble. Just lips and hands and heat — one last flare of everything we’ve been fighting and giving in to in equal measure.
I freeze for half a heartbeat, then kiss her back with everything I have.
It’s brief. Fierce. Final, maybe.
And then she pulls back, eyes still closed for half a second like she wants to memorise the feel of it.
“In case I decide against it,” she whispers. “I just wanted… one more.”
I can’t find words.
She doesn’t wait for them.
She turns and walks out, soft steps fading down the hallway, and all I can do is stand there with the taste of her still on my lips and the echo of that kiss still ringing in my chest.
In case I decide against it.
The thought sparks a raw burn low in my stomach. She doesn't even realise how much power she holds over me. Her decision can make or break me.
Chapter 12
Stella
Ilower my foreheadto the kitchen table.
It’s not theatrical. It’s the only way to stop my thoughts from spinning off into orbit.
Across from me, Fran watches in silence, her fingers curled around a chipped mug of tea. The only sound between us is the faint creak of my chair and the quiet tick of the old wall clock.
“You’ve got that look,” she says eventually. Calm. Observant.
I keep my head down. “I’ve got several.”
“This one says you’re either about to cry or move to Wales.”
I let out a breath. “Maybe both.”
She waits. She’s good at that. She doesn’t fill the silence just to make herself comfortable.
I lift my head slowly, my cheek flushed from the wood. “I don’t know what to do.”
Fran doesn’t blink. “About him?”
I nod.
She sits back in her chair. “Do you want him?”
The answer’s there instantly. Lodged behind my ribs. “Yes.”
It tastes dangerous.
She doesn’t ask anything else, not right away. She just waits, letting the heat of my answer settle.
