Ivy
Hampton, Virginia
The house is quiet in that late-night way that always makes everything feel a little more intimate than it should.
Hadley went down easily tonight, exhausted from an afternoon at the park and an extra three read-throughs of the book she’s currently obsessed with.
I lingered longer than usual after turning off her lamp, smoothing her hair back from her forehead, letting the steady rhythm of her breathing calm the restless energy sitting just under my skin.
I’ve been checking the time more than I want to admit.
Not obviously.
Just…often enough to notice.
His Jeep pulls into the driveway just after ten and my stomach flips instantly.
Ridiculous.
I’m standing in the kitchen pretending to wipe down a counter that is already clean when the garage door opens.
“I didn’t realize I was being graded on how spotless the counters are,” Dalton says, voice roughened slightly in that way it does after a long day when you’d probably rather be sleeping.
I turn, and—
Oh.
He’s still in PTs.
Dark gray Air Force T-shirt clinging just slightly, fabric damp enough to hint at the shape of his muscular shoulders and strong chest beneath it. Blue shorts, running shoes unlaced, one hand pushing absently through his hair like he’s done it about a hundred times already tonight.
His hair is messy, falling a little lower on his forehead than usual.
He looks warm.
Tired.
Comfortably rumpled in a way that feels entirely unfair.
And I am suddenly very aware of the fact that this man is my roommate.
“Oh,” I say unintelligently.
His mouth twitches slightly. “Strong start.”
Heat creeps up my neck as I set the cloth down, folding it carefully even though it absolutely does not need folding.
“You’re home late.”
“I had an evening sortie and then Wells and I ran after,” he says simply, nudging the door closed with his foot. “I needed to clear my head.”
I hesitate for half a second, closing my eyes before asking, “Did Logan say anything?” I try very hard to sound casual and absolutely fail.
Dalton pauses midway through pulling a glass from the cabinet, glancing over his shoulder at me.
“Anything about…?” he prompts.
My face heats instantly. “You know what about.”
His mouth curves slightly as he walks toward the refrigerator. “Define anything.”
I press my lips together. “I am so sorry.”
“For…?”
“For him overhearing,” I say quickly. “That was terrible timing. Truly the worst possible timing in the history of timing.”
He laughs softly under his breath.
“And I shouldn’t have even told the girls,” I continue, words starting to trip over themselves. “I just—I needed to talk about it with someone, and they’re my best friends, and it wasn’t supposed to go any further than that, obviously, and then Logan just—appeared—”
“Ivy.”
I stop.
He turns then, leaning back lightly against the counter, arms crossing over his chest. “I promise,” he says, amusement clear in his voice, “I am not upset that your best friends know we kissed.”
My stomach flips again at the way he says it.
We kissed.
“I just don’t want things to be weird for you at work,” I say, softer now. “Or for Logan to give you a hard time because of me.”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “Oh, he absolutely gave me a hard time.”
I groan, dragging both hands over my face. “I’m never speaking again.”
“It wasn’t that bad.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not,” he says calmly.
I narrow my eyes. “Dalton.”
He shrugs slightly. “Alright, it was a little bad.”
“I knew it.”
“But,” he adds, voice still warm with quiet humor, “I’ve survived worse than Logan and Wells being smug assholes for five minutes.” He finally fills his glass with water from the dispenser on the fridge door.
Five minutes. That feels suspiciously short.
“Five minutes?” I repeat.
He takes a drink, studying me for a beat, something thoughtful flickering briefly behind the teasing.
“Okay,” he admits. “Maybe closer to ten.”
I gasp softly. “Double digits? I’ve ruined your career.”
He huffs out a laugh. “You’re going to have to live with the guilt.”
“I don’t know if I’m strong enough.”
“I believe in you.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t stop smiling.
There’s a small pause as he takes a long sip of water, his throat moving slowly as he swallows.
My gaze drops before I can stop it.
His arms.
Strong, defined even beneath the soft cotton of the T-shirt, veins faintly visible where his forearms flex as he sets the glass down.
His legs, solid and steady under the loose fabric of his shorts.
He shifts slightly, and the shirt pulls just enough across his chest that I have to look away entirely.
This is new.
This sharp, fluttering awareness that sits low in my stomach.
It makes me nervous.
In an excited way.
In a way I haven’t felt in a very long time.
Not since everything got complicated.
Not since before.
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, suddenly unsure what to do with my hands.
“I really am sorry,” I say again, quieter this time. “I didn’t mean for anyone else to know.”
Dalton’s gaze softens slightly. “I’m not,” he says simply.
I blink. “You’re…not?”
“No.”
The word settles between us, steady and sure.
“I don’t regret it,” he adds after a beat.
My heart stumbles.
“Even with Logan giving you a hard time?”
A small smile touches his mouth. “Especially then.”
I let out a quiet laugh, shaking my head. “That’s concerning.”
“Probably,” he agrees easily. “Though it was warranted with the endless shit I gave him over how he left Lila after Ryan.”
“Well, that was different.”
He nods. “Exactly, it was worse. I laid it on thick when he was already at rock bottom.”
There’s a pause.
Not awkward.
Just aware.
The air between us feels warmer than it should. Like something is hovering just beneath the surface, waiting to see who acknowledges it first.
His gaze lingers on me for a second longer than necessary.
“So,” he says lightly, pushing off the counter. “Should I be concerned that every time you see me now, you’re apparently thinking about kissing me?”
My stomach drops straight to the floor. “Kill me now,” I whisper, looking up toward the ceiling.
His mouth curves.
“You heard that part too?”
“I may have,” he admits.
I press my hands over my face. “I’m moving. Immediately. Tonight.”
“Seems drastic.”
I feel my face flushing bright red and refuse to look at him. “I’m serious.”
“You did just threaten to abandon the house,” he points out.
“I will pack a bag.”
“I’d prefer you didn’t.”
I lower my hands slowly, meeting his gaze. “You would?”
His expression shifts almost imperceptibly. “Yeah,” he says quietly.
The room goes very still. The kind of still that makes every breath feel louder than it should.
I swallow.
“I didn’t mean for you to hear that,” I admit softly.
“I know.”
“I just…said it without thinking.”
His gaze drops briefly to my mouth before lifting again. “Did you mean it?”
The question is gentle. Careful. Honest.
My pulse jumps. “Yes,” I say before I can second-guess it.
The word barely makes it past my lips before something in his expression changes. And suddenly the space between us feels very, very small.
Neither of us moves, but the tension is there. Warm, unsteady, and full of possibility. And for the first time in a long time, the nervous feeling in my chest isn’t fear.
It’s anticipation.