bChapter /bb103/bb: /bbLa /bbPOV /b

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    After a few minutes of silence, I tilt my head slightly, just enough to catch sight of him in my peripheral vision.

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    He’s holding a mug with undoubtedly more coffee, and his right hand’s fingers are wrapped around the ck ceramic like he’s trying to keep himself from reaching out to

    something. His left hand is buried in the front pocket of his jeans, and his body is loose

    and rxed in that deceptively casual way he wears like his personal armor.

    I scoot to the left of the step without saying a word–a silent invitation if you will— which he epts without hesitation when he eagerly steps closer.

    He drops down beside me with that same quiet weight he carries daily, and when he’sfortable, his knee bumps mine just enough to be felt but not enough to demand

    anything.

    Then, we sit in silence that’s not awkward or heavy, as we peer off into the distance, while I watch a few autumn leaves lightly drift down to the ground. It’s just a shared silence between two people trying to figure out whates next.

    He eventually rests his elbows on his knees and cradles the mug between his hands. “You good?” he asks, his voice low and gravel–edged as they mix with the early morning sounds of awakening birds.

    My answer catches in my throat, so I try to swallow past it, but when that doesn’t work, I nod once, before I eventually manage to say, “Yeah. I just needed…a minute.”

    His reply is nothing more than a slight head incline and a gruff, “Understandable.”

    After that, we stay quiet for a bit, and he allows me to ‘have my minute‘. And his supportive silence means more to me than I can voice right now.

    When a woodpecker starts hammering away in the forest a few yards away, I nce sideways to take him in fully.

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    Chapter 103: La POV

    I notice the set of his jaw that’s tight, like he’s holding something back. Is it words? An action, maybe? I see the way the sunlight touches the nes of his face, softening the angles that usually look as if they were carved from granite.

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    And in that moment, as my eyes skim the outline of his regal nose, his angr jaw, and I trace the intricate tattoo designs that snake up his neck from beneath his t–shirt, something unfurls inside me.

    It’s slow and dangerous, and if I’m being honest with myself, it has been there for a while, simmering beneath the surface.

    I think, imaybe/i, I just needed to sit still long enough to allow myself to feel it,e to terms with it, and ept that it’s inevitable.

    On instinct, I shift just a breath closer to his side, and he immediately notices.

    His emerald gaze slides to me, and it’s slow and intense, making me feel like I’m standing still underneath an impending lightning strike, but choosing to stay in the path of what’s sure to devastate me, whether in a good or bad way.

    But he doesn’t lean in or push himself on me. He waits me out, because that’s who he is. And maybe ithat’s /iwhat causes my resolve to snap.

    I lean in slightly, letting my knee press lightly against his, and settle my hand on his muscr jeans–encased thigh as if to anchor myself to this moment.

    His grip momentarily tightens around the mug, and his knuckles whiten for a second before he gently sets it down on the step on the other side of him without breaking eye contact with me. The look in his eyes makes me think there’s nowhere else in the world he wants to look right now.

    Then, he lifts his hand slowly and reverently, and his fingertips brush along my jawline before tucking a piece of hair behind my ear with a gentleness I’m not used to from him, which makes my chest ache in the best of ways.

    I shiver under the touch, even though it’s nothing more than a whisper of his skin against mine. But the trail of sparks it leaves in its wake has my breath stuttering, and my eyes going half–mast. His thumb traces the edge of my cheekbone, the callouses on

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    Chapter 103: La POV

    its pad rasping tender and random patterns there, as he searches my eyes with his.

    And then…he kisses me.

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    It’s not rushed or urgent, but it doesn’tck anything in its intensity. He kisses me like

    he’s memorizing my taste and feel anew. It’s as if he’s waited long enough and doesn’t

    want to miss a single second longer of not being able to make me his as well. Funnily enough, though, I think I knew, deep down, that I’d be his someday, no matter how rocky our journey started.

    My lips part for him instinctively, and he deepens our kiss without hesitation. But it’s not greedy or rough, and it doesn’t dominate. It’snguorous and sensual, filled to the brim with the desire that’s been simmering between us basically since day one when he pinned me against my car in the restaurant’s parking lot.

    My hands fist in the front of his Henley without even having to think or doubt my actions, pulling him closer like he’s the only real thing I need to keep me sane as his kiss

    consumes me and my senses.

    When we finally, slowly, and reluctantly pull apart several minutester, we’re both breathless and slightly stunned. He rests his forehead against mine in a tender act that belies his rough exterior, and I notice his hand is still tenderly cradling the side of my face, like letting go of me right now would cost him more than he’s willing to pay.

    “You don’t have to run anymore,” he whispers, his voice barely above a breath against my lips.

    At thatb, /bsomething inside me cracks at his verbal confirmation of my internal thoughts sincest night.

    The only reaction I can give him is to nod slightly, as my lower lip trembles somewhat.