Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
DYLAN
The sun’s barely up, and I’m already wide awake.
After she fell asleep on me on the sofa, I ended up carrying her to bed.
I was going to leave then, but she insisted she needed me to stay.
I’m not used to this. Waking up with someone next to me.
Waking up and not wanting to leave. Despite my reputation, I never spend the whole night with girls I’ve hooked up with in the past, and I never take them to my place.
Mia’s hair is a mess of waves across the sheets, and she’s on her side facing me, breathing softly. The light filtering through the blinds catches the curve of her cheek, her lips are slightly parted, and I have to fight the urge to reach out and trace the shape of them.
She looks peaceful. Like the world outside this bed doesn’t exist. Like last night didn’t happen, and that’s what scares me.
Because it did.
Every glance. Every kiss. Every word she whispered when she thought I wasn’t listening. They happened. And now I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do with all of it.
I shift onto my back and stare up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the way her bare thigh is brushing mine.
We didn’t have sex, but there was a lot of exploration shall we say.
But it was enough. Enough to ruin me. I should leave before she wakes up.
Give her the space she always ends up asking for in the daylight.
But I don’t.
Instead, I get up quietly, pull on my joggers from last night, and pad into the kitchen.
It’s small, a bit cluttered, and lived-in.
There’s a chipped mug on the counter and a note stuck to the fridge with a Raptor’s magnet, something about rent reminders and laundry.
It makes me weirdly fond of her, seeing these bits of her life I’ve never been privy to before.
I fill the kettle and try to remember how she takes her coffee. I know she drinks it black when she’s tired, with milk and sugar when she’s not. I reach for both, just in case.
By the time I’m setting down two mugs on the table, I hear movement behind me. The soft shuffle of bare feet on laminate flooring.
“Is that coffee?” Her voice is low and sleep-rough, and it does something to me. Wrecks me a little.
I glance over my shoulder. She’s in an oversized T-shirt, and the sight alone makes my throat dry. “It is,” I say, holding out the coffee with milk. “Didn’t know how you’d want it.”
She takes it from me with a grateful nod, brushing her fingers against mine as she does. That tiny touch sparks heat in my chest like she’s lit a fuse I can’t unburn.
“I figured you’d be gone,” she says, lifting the mug to her lips.
I lean against the counter, my arms folded loosely across my chest. “Thought about it.”
“And?”
I look at her. Hair messy, face bare, and her eyes still heavy with sleep. “Didn’t want to.”
She exhales through her nose and turns toward the window like she doesn’t know what to do with that.
Neither do I, to be fair.
We drink in silence for a minute. There’s a soft hum of traffic outside and the occasional drip from the kitchen tap. And then she speaks.
“My car’s still at the rink.”
Right. That.
I grab my phone from the counter and flick it open. “I’ll get my mate to pick it up. His garage isn’t far from here, I can pull in that favour he owes me.”
She arches a brow. “You sure?”
I nod. “I’ll text him now. He’ll sort it.”
She looks like she wants to protest, like she should push back to prove she’s still holding her own, but she doesn’t. Instead, she nods slowly. “Thank you.”
I type out the message and hit send, then glance back at her. “You’ve got work today?”
“No, off until tomorrow. And you?”
“Gym at noon. Skating drills at five. Jonno wants my stride cleaner.”
She bites her lip, considering something, then gestures toward the sofa. “You’ve got time to sit for a bit?”
I have time for anything if it means being around her a little longer.
We take our coffee into the lounge and collapse onto the couch. She pulls her knees up under her and tugs a blanket over her lap. It’s quiet again, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s that kind of silence you get when you know the person next to you gets it. Gets you.
She reaches for the remote and flicks on the telly, there’s some cooking show where the contestants are yelling about undercooked pastry on, and she smiles before she leans her shoulder into mine.
My arm comes up on instinct, curling around her without thinking. She settles in, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like we’ve done this a thousand times before. But we haven’t. This is all new. Fresh and more than a little terrifying.
And maybe that’s why my chest tightens the way it does. Because I know myself. And I know what I feel when something starts to matter.
“I don’t know what this is,” she murmurs suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper.
I turn my head, but she’s staring straight ahead. “Yeah,” I say, matching her tone. “Me neither.”
She looks down at her hands. “I’m not good at this part.”
“What part?”
“The letting someone in part.”
I shift slightly, my arm still around her. “And you think I am?”
She finally looks up at me. “You make it look easy.”
“That’s because with you, it is.”
She doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Then she shifts again, her fingers brushing my chest, and before I can register what’s happening, she leans in and kisses me.
It’s soft. Uncertain. Her mouth is warm and hesitant against mine, like she’s testing the idea of us. My hand slides into her hair, anchoring her to me as I kiss her back, slowly, and deliberately. This one feels different. Like a question. Like she’s asking me if it’s safe to fall.
I don’t rush it. I let it unfold slowly, like a secret shared in the dark. And when we finally break apart, our foreheads rest together, breath mingling in the quiet.
Her voice comes next, rough and small. “I don’t know how to not be scared of this.”
My hand cups her cheek, my thumb brushing under her eye. “Then be scared,” I say. “I’m still here.”
She nods, her lashes fluttering as she blinks against the emotion building there.
I hold her tighter. “We don’t have to figure it all out today.”
She lets out a shaky breath, and for the first time since I woke up, I see the relief in her. Like maybe she’s not alone in this. Like maybe we’re not alone in this.
We sit there for a while, tangled in each other, watching the rest of the show in silence. And maybe we’re both terrified. But the longer I hold her, the more certain I become of one thing.
This isn’t just another phase.