23. Violet
VIOLET
The ice cream shop glows with soft, warm lights and pastel colors that feel almost out of place after Nocturne.
The tension leaves Drew's shoulders the second we step inside.
His expression softens as he studies the menu.
My chest warms.
This was the right choice.
He glances over at me. “What do you usually get?”
I smile. “Depends on my mood.”
“And tonight?” he asks, stepping a little closer.
“You.” The word slips out before I can stop it.
For one stupid second, I forget I'm supposed to pretend otherwise.
His brows lift.
I take a step forward, peering at the menu. “Chocolate,” I amend smoothly. “With caramel.”
His lips twitch like he knows something just happened… but can’t quite place it.
“Good save,” he murmurs.
I smile to myself.
He orders chocolate peanut butter.
I quietly add that to my mental files. I’ll add it to my binder later.
We grab a corner booth. He slides in beside me, his leg touching mine.
I shove a bite of my ice cream in my mouth to hide my smile.
There’s no rush.
Just conversation, quiet laughter, and the steady, grounding presence of him beside me.
By the time we step back out into the night, a pint of chocolate peanut butter ice cream in hand, he’s different. Lighter.
And a little more mine.
“Am I driving us home?”
I smile up at him. “If you want to.”
He nods, a soft smile on his face. “Yeah. I do.”
He holds the door open for me, then fastens my seat belt again. I breathe in his scent—soap, cedarwood, and a hint of peanut butter. I hold it in my lungs, relishing it.
Our eyes meet. He gives me a smile before straightening, closing my door, and rounding the driver’s side.
He clicks his seat belt into place, checks the mirrors, then starts the car
Of course he checks the mirrors.
Drew is careful. Safe.
I never thought I'd want that in a man.
Now... I can't imagine wanting anything else.
I glance over as he drives, smiling at how comfortable he looks behind the wheel. Confidence is settling into him like it belongs there.
I think back to his comment at the restaurant.
He thinks he knows me. But he has no idea.
He doesn’t know the version of me that watches him through windows.
He knows the version I’m brave enough to show him.
Not the parts I keep hidden.
My fingers tighten around the bag.
Soon I won't have to watch him through windows anymore.
I glance at him as he kills the engine. “Ready?” I ask.
He nods. “Yeah.”
Our shoulders brush as we walk to the front door. I unlock it, step inside, and flick on the lights.
Drew spins in a slow circle.
“Wow. This place is much nicer than—”
I smile, stepping further inside and setting the ice cream on the counter.
“It’s perfect for my sister and me.”
I slip off my shoes, then glance back at him.
“She’s not home,” I add casually. “We have the house to ourselves.”
Drew stills for half a second. Just long enough for me to notice.
His gaze flicks toward the staircase, then back to me.
I don’t look away.
“Oh,” he says. Something cautious flickers across his face.
Somewhere between the doorway and the kitchen... the space between us disappears.
His hand lifts, hesitating for just a second—like he’s giving himself time to stop. Or for me to stop him.
His fingers brush my arm.
His fingers lightly brush against my arm, warm and careful. Like he’s waiting to see what I’ll do.
I don’t move.
His thumb shifts, grazing just slightly higher.
My breath catches—soft, quiet—but he hears it.
His eyes darken. “Is this okay?” he asks, his voice just above a whisper.
The question makes something inside me unravel in the best way.
“Yes,” I breathe.
That’s all he needs.
His hand slides gently to my waist, pulling me just a fraction closer.
I rest my hand against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm beneath my palm.
His gaze drops to my lips, then back to my eyes. Like he’s asking permission.
I don’t make him wait. I close the distance.
The kiss is softer than before. Slower. But no less consuming.
For a second, I let myself have this.
No planning.
No strategy.
Just him.
Just this.
It won’t last.
But I take it anyway.
His hand tightens slightly at my waist, like he’s holding himself in place. Like he doesn’t trust himself not to take more.
I like that. I like knowing he wants to.
I pull back just enough to breathe, my lips still brushing his.
His forehead rests lightly against mine.
“Violet…” he murmurs.
My name sounds different when he says it like that. Warm and raspy.
I smile faintly. “Yes?”
He exhales softly, like he’s trying to find something to say—and failing.
Then he shakes his head slightly. "Nothing."
I smile.
It isn't nothing.
And we both know it.