Chapter 30 Loving Me #10
I watched him move for several long seconds, taking in the patience woven so carefully into everything he did, the quiet care that seemed to live naturally in him now.
Even his restraint had become gentle somehow, so effortless in appearance that I sometimes forgot how much intention it probably required, how much work it must have taken to make tenderness look this easy.
My therapist's words returned again before I could stop them.
You are allowed to want things too.
Bramwell was stirring something on the stove now, still speaking lightly about whether cinnamon counted as "an authoritarian spice" when I interrupted him.
"Can I kiss you?"
Chapter 27: Tender Like This
Bramwell froze completely.
For one endless second he only looked at me. His expression was open and vulnerable, and it left something in my chest feeling just as exposed. Then he nodded once, slowly, and stayed exactly where he was.
He didn't lean closer. He didn't touch me.
He kept his hands in place, but his fingers tightened little by little around the fabric of his jeans.
It struck me suddenly that he was giving me every possible chance to change my mind without embarrassment, holding himself carefully in place because he knew this mattered.
''Of course. You’re in charge here,'' he said quietly.
I swallowed once before crossing the small distance separating us. My pulse was beating hard enough that I could feel it in my throat, but Bramwell remained exactly where he was, watching me with impossible patience as I stopped in front of him.
Then, slowly enough to stop if I needed to, I leaned up and pressed my mouth gently against his.
The kiss barely lasted more than a second. When I pulled back slightly, Bramwell still hadn't moved. His eyes stayed fixed on my face, but something unreadable flickered suddenly across his expression, a brief hesitation that looked dangerously close to uncertainty.
Heat rushed painfully into my chest as embarrassment crashed in. My stomach dropped hard enough to make me physically step backward.
"Oh," I said quickly, mortified already. "Sorry. I —"
"April."
Bramwell reached for me immediately, his hand closing gently around my wrist before I could retreat completely.
"No," he said, looking genuinely distressed now. "No, sweetheart, that is absolutely not what just happened
I looked at him uncertainly while he stared back at me. "What I was thinking about was the catastrophic amount of garlic I consumed during dinner."
I blinked once.
Bramwell ran a hand through his hair, looking genuinely upset now. "I suddenly realized this was your first kiss with me and became deeply aware that I did not brush my teeth beforehand like a civilized adult."
For a second I could only stare at him. Then a startled laugh escaped me before I could stop it. The relief that crossed his face was immediate and almost embarrassing in its intensity.
"I'm serious," he insisted, still holding my wrist carefully. "This feels like the kind of detail people remember forever.''
Another laugh slipped out, quieter this time, and the nervous tightness inside my chest loosened almost instantly.
Bramwell looked visibly calmer the moment I smiled.
I shook my head, still smiling despite myself, and stepped closer again.
This time Bramwell's hand slid carefully from my wrist to my waist, slow enough that I could pull away if I wanted to.
I didn't.
So I leaned up once more and kissed him again, softer now, unable to stop the faint smile pulling at my mouth when I caught the lingering taste of wine, cinnamon, and unfortunately for him, an objectively impressive amount of garlic.
Bramwell made the quietest wounded sound against my mouth the second he realized I was amused. I laughed softly again, and this time when I kissed him, Bramwell finally kissed me back fully but no longer holding himself frozen in place.
His hand rested lightly against my waist while the other moved cautiously to my jaw, touching me like something precious he still couldn't entirely believe he was allowed to have. The tenderness of it ached somewhere deep inside me.
When we finally pulled apart, Bramwell closed his eyes briefly and exhaled a slow, slightly shaky breath.
"I don't want to alarm you," he said faintly, "but I think part of my soul just sat down."
*******
Over the following months, things between us changed quietly. I found myself speaking more and more around him, my voice returning in fragments so gradual I could never identify the exact moment affection stopped feeling frightening and started feeling inevitable.
At first it was small things.
Bramwell reaching for my hand automatically while we crossed sunlit streets warm from the spring afternoon.
My knee settling against his during movies until, without even thinking about it, he would pull the blanket over both of us as though it had always belonged there.
The absentminded way his thumb moved slowly across my knuckles whenever we sat together somewhere quiet, open windows letting in soft evening air scented faintly with rain and blooming trees.
Every new thing became familiar through repetition instead of pressure.
One evening I fell asleep accidentally against his shoulder while he read aloud from one of my books in the calmest voice imaginable. I woke sometime later half-curled against his chest beneath a blanket I didn't remember him putting over me.
After that, bit by bit, cuddling somehow became normal too.
Sometimes I would arrive at his apartment exhausted after work and find him already making tea, sleeves rolled up while music played quietly from the kitchen.
He would take one look at my face and simply open his arms slightly in silent invitation.
I started curling against him on the couch while we watched documentaries neither of us paid attention to anymore.
Sometimes he would rest his chin lightly on top of my head while reading, one arm wrapped loosely around my waist beneath a blanket.
Sometimes while cooking he would pull me gently by the wrist until I stood between his arms as he checked something on the stove behind me, pressing absentminded kisses into my hair and continuing conversations about completely unrelated topics.
One rainy evening after dinner, Bramwell sat beside me on the couch reading aloud, but I wasn't listening to the book anymore.
I was listening to him breathe. Feeling the absentminded way his fingers moved against my arm while he read.
The safety of him surrounding me so completely now that my body was learning not to mistake tenderness for danger every time it appeared.
I lifted my head slightly.
"Brams?"
He stopped reading immediately. "Hm?"
I intertwined our fingers slowly before I lost my nerve.
"I think..." My voice caught briefly. "I think I'm ready for more."
The silence that followed felt enormous.
Bramwell looked at me carefully, all humor fading into something gentler now, something almost unbearably patient.
''I just..." I swallowed once. "I need one more day."
For a second he only stared at me. Then the warmest smile I had ever seen spread slowly across his face, soft enough to make my chest ache.
"Whatever you need from me, it's yours," he said quietly.
But even while he pulled me closer afterward, pressing a lingering kiss against my forehead while his arms wrapped carefully around me beneath the blankets, part of me already knew there was still something I needed to do before tomorrow arrived.
Chapter 28: After the Ruins
I sat outside Ellis's house long enough for the engine to go cold.
The neighborhood looked exactly the same as I remembered it. The same quiet street lined with trimmed hedges and soft yellow porch lights. The same tree leaning slightly over the sidewalk near his driveway. Nothing had changed enough to match the strange tightness building slowly inside my chest.
For a moment I considered leaving. I already knew how exhausting this conversation would be before it even started. My throat felt tight with the effort of sentences I had been rehearsing for days, words repeating themselves over and over in my head until they no longer sounded natural.
I can do this.
Even now, sitting alone in my car, speaking felt like preparing for impact. I closed my eyes briefly and forced myself to breathe before finally stepping out into the cold evening air. By the time I reached the front door my pulse was beating so hard I could feel it behind my ribs.
Ellis opened the door almost immediately after I knocked.
The shock on his face lasted only a second before hope replaced it. His eyes moved over me carefully, almost disbelievingly, and for one terrible moment I knew exactly what he thought when he saw me standing there after nearly a year.
He thought I came back to him.
"April," he said softly, like even my name had become something fragile.
He stepped aside automatically to let me in, and I walked into the house before I could lose my nerve.
My eyes caught on little things without permission: the gray blanket folded over the couch arm, the bookshelf I used to reorganize when anxious, the ceramic mug near the kitchen sink that I had bought him two birthdays ago.
For months after leaving, this house had existed in my mind like something sacred and ruined at the same time. Now it just felt quiet.
Ellis stayed near the doorway watching me with an expression I had never seen on him before, like he was measuring every movement carefully because he thought one wrong word or gesture might make me disappear again.
"You look good," he said after a moment, his voice uneven around the edges.
I nodded.
He rubbed a hand nervously across the back of his neck before glancing toward the kitchen. "Do you want tea, or food, or—"
"No."