Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
MAYA
I’m not sure when exactly it changes. Maybe it’s the way Owen’s hands move in my kitchen, gentle, certain, like he belongs here.
Maybe it’s the way he handles my daughter, patient and steady, like he’s not afraid of the parts of me that are most complicated.
Or maybe it’s just that I’m tired of pretending I don’t want him when every part of me is wired tight with the ache to close the distance.
He’s drying his hands on a tea towel when I ask if he wants to stay for tea.
His eyes flick to mine, and he doesn’t smile, just watches me like he’s making sure I’m really asking what I’m asking.
I am.
“Tea, huh?” he says.
I shrug, casual, though my pulse is going wild. “That’s what we’ll call it.”
And that’s it. The air shifts. The ground tips. His shoulders drop the way they do when he’s ready for a fight, but this time it’s something slower. Hotter.
“I’d love to stay,” he says.
I let out a breath and turn toward the kettle. Give myself something to do. Something to keep my hands from shaking.
“So…” I say, too lightly. “Do you want actual tea, or are we pretending now?”
“Depends. Am I still wearing clothes in this pretend scenario?”
Heat shoots up my spine. “God, you’re incorrigible.”
“I’ve been very polite.”
“Barely.”
He moves behind me, close but not touching, and I can feel the weight of him like a second heartbeat.
“I’m trying not to push you,” he says quietly. “You know that, right?”
“I know.” I turn, lean back against the counter. “And it’s why I trust you.”
His gaze drops to my mouth. “Do you?”
“I wouldn’t let you near my daughter if I didn’t.”
That gets a reaction. Something soft flickers in his eyes.
“Then I’m not gonna rush this,” he says. “But I’m also not gonna lie, if you touch me right now, I’m probably going to lose all my self-control.”
I bite my lip. “Noted.”
We stand like that for a moment. The air between us pulsing. The quiet hum of the kettle in the background. My stomach fluttering so hard I think it might lift me off the floor.
“I want this,” I say finally. “I want you. Just… I’m not great at it anymore.”
“I’m not in a rush,” he says. “We go at your pace.”
His voice is warm and low and steady, and it’s the safest I’ve felt in years.
So I step into him. Just one step. And his arms come around me like instinct.
I press my face into his chest and breathe him in. Soap and vanilla and something uniquely Owen. His hand slides up my back, the gentlest touch, his thumb stroking a slow circle against my spine.
We stay like that for a long time. Quiet. Still. Warm.
Then I tilt my head back and whisper, “Can I kiss you?”
His smile is pure heat and softness.
“I was hoping you would.”
So I do. Slow. Testing. Tender. And then not.
Because the second our mouths touch, everything explodes.
His hand comes up to cradle my jaw, and I open to him with a gasp. His kiss is hungry but careful, as if he’s memorising me. As if he’s been holding back so long, he doesn’t trust himself not to shatter.
I thread my fingers into his hair, tugging him closer. He groans, low and rough, and I feel it in my knees.
“Maya,” he murmurs against my lips. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
I shake my head, already dizzy. “Don’t stop.”
His mouth crashes back onto mine like he’s been starving, and I’m so far gone I don’t care that we’re still in the kitchen, that I’m still wearing a cupcake-smeared apron, that my heart is thundering in my chest like it might break free.
He presses me gently against the counter, caging me in with his body but not overwhelming me. Never overwhelming. Always aware. Always Owen.
I reach for the hem of his hoodie, fingers slipping beneath the fabric, and the feel of his skin under my hands undoes something in me. He’s warm, solid, trembling just slightly beneath my touch.
He breaks the kiss long enough to help me tug the hoodie over his head, hair mussed, lips swollen. He’s beautiful in that rugged, open way that makes me ache.
“Still good?” he asks.
I nod, breathless. “Still good.”
His hands slide under my apron, palms flat against my hips, pulling me closer. I can feel the hard line of him, and it sends a jolt of heat straight through me.
I wrap my arms around his neck and lean up, whispering against his jaw, “You’ve got frosting in your hair.”
He grins. “You gonna lick it off?”
“Maybe.”
He leans down like he’s about to dare me to, and then…
A creak. Footsteps. My heart plummets. We freeze.
“Muummmy,” Lila’s sleepy voice calls from the hallway. “I need a drink,”
I suck in a breath, press both palms to Owen’s chest, and shove him gently back. He moves immediately, grabbing his hoodie and turning away, like he’s not half-naked and fully hard in the middle of my kitchen.
I swipe at my mouth, my hair, my apron.
Lila pads into the kitchen, sleepy-eyed and clutching her stuffed bunny.
“Hi, Bear,” she mumbles.
Owen, bless him, squats down like nothing is wrong. “Hey, Jellybean. You okay?”
“Had a dream I was stuck in a box. It was scary.”
He smiles. “Was it at least a chocolate cake box?”
She shakes her head solemnly. “But there were ants.”
“That’s no good,” he says. “Chocolate cake should never have ants.”
“I’m thirsty.”
I grab a clean glass from the cupboard and fill it with water, bringing it over as she leans against Owen’s shoulder like he’s her human-sized teddy bear.
After she drinks, I crouch down too, brushing her curls back. “You wanna come sleep in my bed tonight?”
She nods, eyes drooping.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
Owen stands to help her, but I shake my head. “I’ve got her.”
He gives me a quiet look. One I can’t read fully.
Back in my room, I tuck her under the covers and kiss her forehead. She’s out again in seconds.
I linger for a moment, just breathing.
Then I return to the kitchen.
He’s there, hoodie back on, wiping down the counter like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
He looks up. “For what?”
“Getting interrupted. The timing. I don’t know.”
His eyes soften. “You don’t have to apologise. That’s your daughter. And you’re her world. She comes first. Always.”
I lean against the wall. “I was ready for more. I really was.”
“I know,” he says gently. “And it’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”
Something about the way he says it makes my chest go tight.
I walk over to him, slowly, and slide my arms around his waist. He pulls me close without hesitation, resting his chin on the top of my head.
We stand like that in the soft light of the kitchen, surrounded by cupcake crumbs and a thousand unspoken things.
After a long beat, I murmur, “I really, really want to finish what we started.”
“I really, really want that too.”
“But I also really, really need to check on my daughter.”
He chuckles, low and warm. “Fair.”
I tilt my head up and kiss the edge of his jaw. “You wanna stay for actual tea?”
He raises an eyebrow. “With clothes on or off?”
“Let’s say on. For now.”
“Then yeah. I’d like that.”
I grin and nudge him toward the table. “You know how to make it. Get to work.”
He salutes me with a wink and moves to the kettle.
And somehow, just like that, I know.
This isn’t just a one-night thing.
This is something real.
And it’s already changing everything.