Chapter 8
Grey
My eyes drop to our intertwined fingers. I brush my thumb over the side of her knuckle, a sense of belonging washing over me. My pulse thrums so quickly, I’m convinced she can feel it through our hands.
She said I could tell her anything. I believe that, but I’m not sure she’s ready to hear my full confession.
All of it. That I know in my heart she’s the one for me.
That I fell in love with her when I didn’t even know what love was.
Telling her about my Fans page seems way less scary, but I’m not ready to let that out into the wild.
I lift my gaze to her face as she waits patiently for me to put what I want to say into words.
In the past, this is where I’d crack a joke and deflect.
Where I don’t risk tipping the balance in case I lose it all.
Her. Because I’d rather settle for her friendship than lose it by making her uncomfortable.
My chest tightens.
“I’m really glad we found our way back to this,” I finally say. My heart pounds heavily in my chest. A warning or a sign. I’m not sure which. “To each other.”
Her grip tightens.
“I didn’t realize how much I’d missed you,” I admit. “Not just… knowing how you’re doing. Darby’s always been good about keeping me up to date on what you two are up to, but… What I’m trying to say is I like being around you. Talking, laughing together. Feeling like myself again.”
It’s a simple but difficult confession that costs me more than I anticipated. My stomach flips with nerves I haven’t felt in years. It feels like I’m standing on the precipice of something that will change my life forever, but without knowing if the outcome will be good or bad.
I think about my sister, of how fiercely she loves Kari. Of how complicated this could get if I screw things up. If either of them thinks I’m crossing a line that can’t be undone.
But none of that stops the truth from settling in my chest. Because it’s already happened. I’m already in too deep.
I squeeze Kari’s hand once, grounding myself. “I just wanted you to know that.”
My heart races, hoping I haven’t said too much—or not nearly enough.
“Me, too,” she says softly. “You’re the best part about moving back home.”
Her words settle deep in my chest. I look at her, unable to express what that means to me. Her gaze holds mine, and her lips part like she might say something more but decides not to. The universe seems to narrow to the two of us. The air between us tightens, thick with everything unsaid.
Movement behind Kari’s shoulder catches my eye. The clerk flips the sign on the door from OPEN to CLOSED and gives us an apologetic smile.
Kari blinks and turns, the spell breaking. She lets out a small, breathy laugh. “Guess that’s our cue.”
“Yeah,” I say, standing.
Outside, the night has cooled even more, the air crisp enough that Kari hunches, allowing her hoodie to bunch around her neck as we walk toward my truck. The sidewalk is quiet, streetlights casting long shadows ahead of us.
I reach for her hand, and she threads her fingers through mine just as easily, like it’s already decided.
The drive back is quiet, comfortable. Her hand stays in mine the whole way, my thumb tracing slow, absent patterns over her knuckles. Every so often she glances at me, and every time she does, my chest tightens like I’m holding something fragile.
When I pull up beside her car, neither of us moves right away.
I walk her over, keys jingling softly in the stillness. She turns to face me, lingering just close enough that I can feel the warmth of her body through the layer of sweatshirt.
“I had a really good time,” she says.
“So did I,” I reply, and this time there’s no hesitation.
We hug. At first it’s easy, familiar. Then she settles into me, her arms sliding around my waist, her cheek resting against my chest. I tighten my hold without meaning to, my hands moving up her arms, anchoring her to me.
Too long for friendship.
She pulls back just enough to look up at me, and the moment takes over. My hands trail up her arms to her neck. I cup her cheeks in my hands and thread my fingers gently into her hair.
Her breath catches.
I lean in slowly, giving her every chance to pull away. But she doesn’t. She leans in, and my heart nearly explodes.
My lips brush over hers tentative, soft, asking rather than taking.
Testing the waters before wading in too deep.
When she exhales against my mouth, I deepen the kiss, tasting her sweetness.
Her hands curl into my jacket, holding me in place.
Grounding me. The kiss lingers, charged with promise and restraint.
When we finally pull back, her eyes are dark, searching.
“It’s late. I should go,” she says, her voice unsteady.
“You don’t have to,” I say, equally shaken, but sure of what I want. Her. “You can stay. If that’s what you want.”
She watches me thoughtfully. And if I know anything about Kari, a thousand possible outcomes are playing through her mind right now. The what ifs, maybes and buts.
“What do you want?” she asks quietly, almost unsure.
I don’t hesitate. The time for that is long gone, because she’s asked the one question I can answer with certainty.
“You. Only you.”
Kari
For a second I’m afraid I’m delusional, hearing things. Asking me inside… to stay… it’s a line just friends don’t cross. My brain stutters, tripping over itself in a dizzying spiral.
He can’t possibly mean… surely doesn’t want… me.
My mind immediately goes to my soft belly, mentally cataloging everything that jiggles when I move. My chest tightens, my skin flushes hot from the inside out, like someone’s struck a match to a pool of gasoline. My pulse skitters and my breath comes in shallow waves.
I scramble to find the logic in what’s happening. Grey’s the one person I shouldn’t want, shouldn’t feel this way about. What would Darby think? Would she be furious with me, protective of him? Does she even have to know?
That thought lands with an odd feeling.
Maybe she doesn’t have to know. Maybe no one has to know. Maybe it’s a one-time thing. Just getting something out of our system. Once it’s done, everything goes back to normal. We’re adults. That could happen.
Right?
I don’t have to solve everything tonight.
“What do you want?” I ask, hoping I haven’t read his intent wrong.
“You. Only you.”
I search his face for doubt, for hesitation, for any sign he’s about to walk it back, but he stares at me with certainty in his eyes. He barely blinks.
Heat keeps spreading through my chest, my belly, settling low and insistent at my core. Something inside me breaks, like a damn that’s grown weak from holding back heavy waters.
I step closer, drowning out the noise in my head. His breath brushes my cheek. My fingers curl into the front of his shirt. I fist the fabric in my hands, holding on to steady my own heart.
“Grey,” I breathe, my voice barely audible. “I want to stay.”
Whatever comes next, consequences be damned. I know this isn’t a mistake.