44. Violet
VIOLET
I lead Drew down the stairs carefully, my hand still wrapped around his arm.
He doesn’t pull away.
A smile slides across my face.
He’s mine.
Callie is waiting at the bottom of the stairs with her arms crossed and a smile far too pleased for my liking.
Drew slows when he sees her.
“Oh good,” she says. “The worst stalker in Hollow Creek survived first aid.”
Drew closes his eyes. “Please don’t make that stick.”
“It’s already stuck.”
I glance at my sister. “Callie.”
She lifts both hands. “Fine. I’ll stop.” She glances at Drew. “For now.”
She steps aside, still smiling like tonight has been the greatest gift the universe ever handed her.
Drew and I move toward the front door. He isn’t leaning on me exactly, but he isn’t steady either. The whiskey has softened his edges. Loosened something in him.
Not enough that he isn’t Drew. Just enough that he’s stopped hiding.
I like him like this.
Uncertain.
Open.
Trying so hard not to need me.
“I can get an Uber,” he says.
“No.”
His brows lift. “No?”
“I’m driving you.”
“I don’t want to inconvenience you.”
“You broke into my house, lost a fight with a rake, got attacked by a racket, and tried to investigate me like a suburban Batman.” I open the door. “We’re past inconvenience.”
Callie snorts behind us.
Drew’s ears redden. “I was not a suburban Batman.”
“No,” Callie says. “Batman has stealth.”
I bite back a smile.
Drew points at her. “You’re enjoying this too much.”
“I’m enjoying it exactly the right amount.”
I tug gently on Drew’s arm before he can keep arguing. “Come on.”
He follows me outside.
The evening air is cooler now, brushing over my skin as we walk toward my car. Drew is quieter than he was inside. Less defensive. More aware.
I feel him looking at me as I unlock the car, then open the passenger door for him.
He blinks. “I can open a door.”
“I know.”
He studies me for a second, then carefully lowers himself into the seat. He bumps my arm as he gets in, and the tiny contact pulls his gaze to my face.
Neither of us moves.
He’s close enough that I can smell whiskey beneath the soap and cedarwood. Close enough to see the small scratch near his temple. Close enough to remember how his hand felt around my wrist upstairs.
His eyes drop to my mouth.
The hunger is unmistakable now.
He wants me.
And he knows I know it.
My fingers tighten lightly around the edge of the door. “Seatbelt,” I say softly.
He exhales, almost laughing. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“Very romantic.”
“I’m not trying to be romantic.”
His lips twitch. “No?”
I lean closer, reaching across him.
His body stills.
The seatbelt slides through my fingers as I pull it across his chest. My knuckles brush his shirt. His breath catches, faint but sharp, and I feel it more than hear it.
His gaze stays on my face.
I click the buckle into place. “There,” I murmur.
I don’t move right away.
Neither does he.
My hand rests near his hip, just above the buckle. His chest rises slowly, controlled, like he’s forcing himself not to react.
But he is reacting.
Beautifully.
His eyes lift to mine. “Violet.”
My name sounds rough. Almost pleading.
I let my gaze drift to his mouth.
Then back to his eyes.
“You’ve been drinking,” I remind him.
His jaw tightens. “I know.”
I nod, then step back and close the door before either of us does something
He watches me through the window as I walk around the car.
By the time I slide behind the wheel, his hands are braced against his thighs like he doesn’t trust them.
I start the engine.
For a few seconds, neither of us says anything.
I shift to drive and head down the driveway to the street.
The road stretches out ahead of us, quiet and dim, the last bit of light slipping from the sky. Drew leans back against the seat, staring out the windshield, but his attention isn’t on the road.
It’s on me.
“So... where were you tonight?” he asks. “Before you came home and discovered me being beaten by a racket.”
I laugh. “I had a meeting with a client. We met for coffee and outlined her social media strategy. Discussed SEO.”
He nods. “Oh.” His fingers drum against his leg. “I’m trying not to say anything stupid.”
“You’ve had an eventful night. I think stupid already happened.”
He huffs out a laugh, then winces slightly, touching his side.
“Sore?” I ask.
“A little. Most of it’s my pride.”
“And your head.”
“And my dignity.”
“That was gone when you screamed like a squirrel and fell in the bush.”
He turns his head, giving me a look.
I smile.
His mouth twitches despite himself.
The silence that follows isn’t awkward. It’s charged. Heavy in the way silence becomes when two people are thinking about the same thing and pretending not to.
His gaze drops to my hand on the steering wheel. “You’re really not mad?”
“No.”
“You should be.”
“Probably.”
“But you’re not.”
“No.”
He shifts in the seat, turning slightly toward me. “Why?”
I keep my eyes on the road. “Because you’re not dangerous to me.”
He’s quiet for a beat. “I broke into your house.”
“You’re very bad at it.”
“That’s not the point.”
“It kind of is.”
“No, it isn’t.”
I glance at him. “Drew, if you were dangerous, Callie wouldn’t have stopped with the tennis racket.”
He considers that, then nods slowly. “That’s… oddly reassuring.”
“She has excellent follow-through.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
A laugh slips out of me before I can stop it.
Drew looks at me, like the sound surprised him. Like he wants to hear it again.
Something warm moves through my chest.
I look back at the road before I let too much of it show.
He drags a hand through his hair, frustrated and too endearing for his own good. “You make me insane.”
“I know,” I chirp.
“You’re not supposed to agree with that.”
“Would lying make you feel better?”
He exhales sharply. “Probably not.”
“Then there’s no point.”
He doesn’t say anything.
I can almost hear the gears turning in his head.
Trying to understand me.
Poor Drew.
He still thinks some things can be filed neatly away.
A box for normal.
One for dangerous.
Another for attraction.
And of course, a box for fear.
He doesn’t realize I fit in all of them.
“Do you want me to leave you alone?” I ask.
The question slips between us, quiet and dangerous.
His head turns fast. “No.” His eyes widen slightly, like he surprised himself.
I don’t smile.
But I want to.
Instead, I keep my voice calm. “Okay.”
He looks away, jaw flexing. “I mean… no. Not exactly.”
“Not exactly?”
“I don’t know what I mean.”
“I think you do.”
He glances at me again. “You always say things like that.”
“Because they’re true.”
His gaze lingers on me, then drops again to my mouth.
This time, he doesn’t hide it quickly enough.
My pulse warms.
I let him look.
Then I turn into his driveway.
The house sits quiet beneath the deepening sky, porch light glowing warm against the front door. The yard is trimmed now. Curtains hang in the windows.
It looks like a home.
Our home.
Soon.
I put the car in park but leave the engine running.
Drew stares at the house.
“I should check on Luna,” he says.
“Yes.”
He doesn’t unbuckle.
I wait.
His fingers move to the seatbelt, then still.
He looks at me. “You’re not coming in?”
I turn fully toward him. “Do you want me to?”
He looks toward the house, then back at me.
"...I don't want you to leave."
This time, he doesn’t look away.
The words are quiet and honest.
My fingers curl slightly around the steering wheel.
I lean toward him just enough for his attention to drop to my mouth again.
His breath catches.
“I’m not coming in.”
His face falls slightly before he can hide it. “Why not?”
“Because you’ve been drinking.”
“I’m not drunk anymore.”
“You’re not clear-headed either.”
“I’m clear enough.”
“Not for me.”
That stops him.
His voice lowers. “What does that mean?”
“It means when you ask me to come inside, I want you to mean it tomorrow, too.”
His fingers tighten around the seatbelt. “I would.”
“Then you can ask me tomorrow. When you haven’t been drinking.”
He stares at me.
There’s frustration in his face now, but beneath it is something else.
Heat.
Need.
The realization that he wants something he can’t have tonight.
“You’re doing this on purpose,” he says.
“Yes.”
His lips part slightly.
That answer does something to him.
I can see it.
“You’re not even pretending,” he says.
“Not right now.”
The car feels too warm. Too small.
His focus lingers on my mouth.
This time, when it lifts back to mine, there’s something darker there.
Less confused.
More certain.
“I want to kiss you,” he says.
My heart gives one hard beat. “I know.”
“Violet.” His voice is nearly a groan.
I lean closer. “You can kiss me tomorrow,” I whisper.
His eyes close for half a second.
When they open, they’re heated, frustrated, and fixed entirely on me. “That’s cruel.”
“It’s honest.”
I reach over and press the button to release the seatbelt. The buckle clicks free.
My hand lingers for one second too long before I pull away.
“Go check on Luna.”
He doesn’t move.
“Drew.”
He exhales slowly, then opens the door.
Cool air slips into the car.
He steps out, slightly steadier now, though still slower than usual.
He turns back before closing the door. “You’ll text me when you get home?”
My mouth curves. “Yes.”
“And tomorrow?”
“What about tomorrow?”
His jaw tightens. “Can I see you tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
Relief flickers across his face. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
He lingers, like he wants to say something else.
But he doesn’t.
Finally, he gives me a wave and closes the door.
I wait until he reaches the porch.
He turns once, looking back at me.
I lift my fingers in a small wave.
He shakes his head slightly, like he can’t believe any of this is happening, then unlocks the door and steps inside.
Only once the door closes behind him do I pull away.
A smile curves my lips.
“See you soon, Drew.”