“Jess,” I said quietly, “you don’t need to thank me for that.”
Her gaze softened, a warm slide of affection that hit somewhere deep. “I do. Trust doesn’t magically appear just because you want it to. It’s a practice. A muscle. I’m working on it.”
“You’re doing great.”
“That’s debatable.”
“No,” I said firmly, “it’s actually not.”
She smiled, small and shy in a way she almost never let herself be. “I really like you.”
I swallowed, heart doing something stupid behind my ribs. “I really like you too.”
Her smile stretched wider. “Yeah, I know.”
I kissed the top of her head, letting myself revel in the weight of her tucked against me like this was something we’d been doing forever instead of just a couple of weeks. And then, because I’d been thinking it all night, I said, “You staying over tonight?”
She made a noncommittal hum that told me she’d already decided but wanted to make me work for it. “I didn’t pack anything.”
“You think I care if you have matching pajamas?” Hell, I was more than happy to have her with no pajamas at all. All night long. And I’d already made sure to add a spare toothbrush in the bathroom.
“Matching pajamas?” She snorted. “I don’t even own matching pajamas.”
“I know,” I said. “You stole my sweatshirt three days ago and haven’t given it back.”
She did not look remotely guilty. “Possession is nine-tenths of the law.”
“You want to claim legal custody of my hoodie, you gotta move in.”
She choked on a pecan. “I—what?!”
“I’m kidding,” I said immediately, holding up my free hand even though she was already smacking my chest. “I’m kidding. Mostly.”
“Powell Ferguson.”
“What?” I asked, laughing. “It was a joke.”
“It was not a joke.”
“Okay,” I admitted, sobering. “It wasn’t a joke. But it wasn’t a proposal either.”
Her cheeks pinked again, this time for a different reason. She looked away for a second, then back at me. “Maybe someday.”
The words dropped between us with surprising weight—a soft, careful promise wrapped in hope.
Warmth spread through my chest in a slow, steady bloom. I squeezed her hand again. “Yeah,” I said. “Maybe someday.”
She leaned her head back against my shoulder, and we stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped in the glow of the lights, the hum of the square, the anticipation of something beginning rather than ending.
As the countdown crept closer, people gathered in tighter clusters. Kids climbed onto their parents’ hips. Teenagers shoved each other playfully. Someone started passing out sparklers. Mrs. McKenzie shouted at someone to mind their coat hem before they set the whole place on fire.
Jess angled toward me again. “You ready for this?”
“For a new year?”
“For the part where people kiss at midnight.”
I smiled. “I think I can handle that.”
