Chapter 26 Now
Now
We don’t say anything on the ride home. Not because it’s awkward but just because I think we’re both in our heads, trying not to break the moment.
I stare out the window, trying to slow my pulse and my thoughts, both of which are running wild.
My knee’s practically bouncing. I can feel the space between us.
It’s not tense, just different. Every bump in the road feels exaggerated, knocking me into his heat, like my body’s hyperaware of his.
I wonder if he’s replaying the kiss like I am.
If he’s just as stunned by how easy it felt.
If he’s nervous about what happens next or if he already knows and is just waiting for me to catch up.
I kissed him back, obviously, but now that we’re not on a sidewalk with city noise to fill the silence, everything feels quieter and a little more real.
The truth is I’m terrified of how much I want this and how easily wanting can turn into losing.
When we pull up to my building, Lucas follows me inside without asking. Winston barks the second he hears my keys, then slides across the floor with his tail wagging like he hasn’t seen me in days.
Lucas laughs and crouches to pet him. “Dramatic just like his mom.”
Winston practically launches himself into Lucas’s lap. He scratches behind his ears like its instinct. I watch them for a second, weirdly comforted by how natural it all feels—Lucas in my apartment, Winston acting like this is his usual nighttime routine.
“I should take him out real quick.”
Lucas nods. “I’ll come.”
We walk the usual loop around the block—me still in my going-out top, Lucas in his jacket, shoulders relaxed in that easy way he gets after a couple drinks.
The air is cool, that kind of early-spring night that smells like rain even though it hasn’t rained in days.
Winston trots ahead like he owns the place, doing an overconfident strut like he knows he’s the main character.
Neither of us says much, but I don’t mind the quiet.
Back upstairs, I drop Winston’s leash by the door and head into the kitchen. “You want water?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
I grab two glasses and fill them from the fridge, the ice clinking like background music.
When I turn around, he’s standing in the doorway, arms crossed loosely, watching me with an unreadable expression.
I hand him a glass, but instead of taking a sip, he sets it on the counter and walks toward me.
It’s slow and careful, like he’s giving me every second to back away. But I don’t.
His hand finds my waist and gently guides me back until I bump against the refrigerator. He doesn’t say anything right away, just watches me for a second, like he’s trying to decide if this is still real.
“You have no idea,” he says finally, “how many times I’ve thought about tonight.”
My throat tightens. “What about tonight?”
“That kiss.”
I stop breathing.
He leans in a little closer, his forehead nearly touching mine.
“I always wondered what it would feel like. Wondered if it would ruin things. Or change it. But I just can’t stop wanting…
” His voice is quiet and a little raspy, like he’s not totally steady, like he’s trying not to jinx it in case it all goes away. Then he kisses me.
It’s different than earlier. There’s less adrenaline and more intention.
His hands frame my waist, and mine drift up to his chest, fingers fisting in the fabric of his T-shirt like I need something to hold on to.
Lucas kisses like he means it, like he’s thought about it a hundred times and is still surprised by how good it feels.
The fridge hums behind me, cool and steady against my back, but all I really feel is him—the warmth of his body pressing into mine, the slow pull of something I’ve been ignoring for a long time.
It’s not just the kiss. It’s the closeness.
It’s the way my body already knows how to lean into him without overthinking it.
Somehow, it all makes sense. Like part of me always knew we’d end up here.
Like I’ve spent years skimming past this page without realizing it was the one the whole story was building toward.
We don’t say anything when we break apart. He just rests his forehead against mine, both of us a little out of breath.
“You’re staying, right?” I ask.
He nods. “If you want me to.”
I do.
Ten minutes later, we’re both changed into pajamas—me in an oversize T-shirt and shorts, him in boxers and a white undershirt.
I brush my teeth while he folds his clothes like we’re a couple or roommates at least. Winston hops up onto the bed without asking permission and circles twice before settling right in the middle.
Lucas climbs in on one side. I crawl in on the other. We lie there for a second, facing each other. I intertwine my legs with his, the sheets cool against our skin. He reaches for my hand and laces our fingers together.
“You know I’ve thought about this too, right?” he asks.
I smile. “Yeah?”
“Freshman year,” he says. “I couldn’t get this very moment out of my mind. Whenever we’d get sexiled—”
“Eating Hot Pockets and watching New Girl on your laptop became like a nightly occurrence,” I say, finishing his sentence.
He laughs, then looks at me. “There was this one night you came over later than usual, and I pretended to fall asleep, hoping that you’d stay in my bed.”
I pause. “Wait. You pretended to fall asleep?”
“Yeah.”
I stare at him. “Lucas.”
“I didn’t want to make it weird,” he says. “I thought if I made a move and you weren’t into it, it would complicate things.”
“And then what?”
He shrugs a little sheepishly. “You went to sleep in my roommate’s bed, and I stared at the ceiling for like two hours, wondering why I didn’t just ask you to stay.”
“You could’ve told me.”
“I know. I almost did a hundred times. I just kept waiting for the right moment.”
I shift closer, his words settling between us. “Does this feel like the right moment?” I whisper.
He doesn’t answer. He just leans in and kisses me again.
We don’t have sex. We kiss a little more—slow, sleepy, still kind of buzzed—tangled up under the covers like we don’t totally know where one of us ends and the other starts.
At one point, he brushes my hair behind my ear, and it feels so natural, I almost forget it’s not something he’s always done.
I fall asleep with my cheek against his chest, his hand resting on my waist like it belongs there.
It doesn’t have to be anything more than this.
Not the kiss against the fridge or the way he looked at me when I asked if he was staying.
Not even the whole stop the car moment that I still can’t believe I actually pulled off.
It’s this. The weight of his arm draped across my waist. The even rhythm of his breathing like he’s not worried about what comes next.
The soft whisper of my name like he was trying to figure out if this was real.
Maybe we’ve been circling this for years and just didn’t have the guts to call it what it was.
* * *
I wake up confused, mostly because my arm’s asleep and something heavy is pinning me down. It takes a second before I realize it’s not something; it’s someone. Lucas.
His arm is curled around me like I’m a body pillow, his breath warm against the back of my neck. Winston’s snoring on the floor, which would be funny if I wasn’t suddenly hyperaware of the fact that I’m very much in bed with my best friend.
For a minute, I stay still. Then curiosity wins, and I roll over carefully until I’m facing him. His face is inches from mine—hair messy, lashes tangled, lips parted in sleep. My chest tightens.
As if he can feel me watching, Lucas stirs, blinking his eyes open. “You’re awake,” he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep.
“Barely,” I whisper back.
He shifts, propping himself on one elbow. His hair is a mess, his T-shirt wrinkled, his eyes still heavy, but he’s smiling, that lazy, lopsided grin that makes my stomach flip.
“You hog the blanket,” he says.
I laugh, tugging the sheet higher on purpose. “You snore.”
“Winston snores,” he corrects me. “I, however, am a saint.”
“Saint, my ass.”
He grins wider but doesn’t push. Instead, he stretches, then says, “Breakfast?”
A little while later, we’re walking down the street.
Lucas is holding Winston’s leash in one hand, and the other is wrapped around mine.
It should feel weird. It should feel loaded or complicated, but it doesn’t feel like any of that.
Instead, it feels easy. It feels like slipping back into something I didn’t realize I’d been missing.
The way his thumb brushes mine. The way he laughs at the sign in the window that says CASH ONLY (don’t yell at us).
The way Winston keeps looking back at us like he’s proud.
“If Winston could review coffee shops, he’d give Sir Walter five stars,” I say.
He laughs. “He’d give anything five stars if they dropped a few crumbs.”
“Not true,” I say. “He didn’t take popcorn from you at our last movie night.”
“That was a fluke.”
“He’s a critic,” I say, fighting a smile.
It feels like nothing’s changed except for the fact that everything has.
We get a table by the window. Lucas orders chicken biscuits with honey, black coffee, and a side of hash browns to share. I stick with my usual, because there’s comfort in routine and because I don’t trust my stomach to handle anything too crazy right now.
I swirl the spoon through my coffee, not really drinking it. “This morning feels weirdly normal.”
Lucas looks up from his plate. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“I don’t know. It’s just not what I expected, I guess.”
He leans back in his chair, smirking. “I mean, if you think about it, we’ve kind of had the slowest burn in history.”
I raise an eyebrow.