24.
I was tucked into Grant's side on the couch, one leg folded under me, a glass of wine resting loosely in my hand.
I hadn't taken more than a sip since he poured it.
It just sat there, something to hold onto more than anything else.
Isabel had left moments ago and it feels like the mask I had on is slipping off.
His hand moved slowly over my knee, thumb brushing back and forth in absentminded circles like he wasn't thinking about it.
"You okay?" he asked, his voice low, not pushing.
"Yeah," I said.
It came out easy.
Too easy.
Because I wasn't.
My mind kept circling the same place, the same image, the same question that refused to settle into anything solid. The red lace. The way Reese said it so casually. The way it didn't feel casual at all once I let myself actually sit with it.
I didn't care what Rodney did.
I didn't.
If anything, I preferred not thinking about him at all.
But Reese—
That felt different.
That felt like something I didn't know how to come back from.
Grant's hand slowed slightly, like he could feel the shift without me saying anything.
"What made you go over there this morning?" he asked.
I exhaled softly, leaning my head back against the couch.
"She got something from Georgetown for me," I said. "My decision. I had used her address for it."
His hand stilled for a second, then resumed. "Did you open it?"
I shook my head.
"No. I forgot."
He huffed out a quiet breath that almost sounded like a laugh.
"You forgot?"
I shrugged a little, staring down into the wine glass.
"It didn't feel like the right time."
"Where is it?"
"In my purse."
"Do you want to open it now?"
I let out a small breath through my nose.
"A rejection is not going to cheer me up."
"You didn't get rejected."
I glanced at him.
"You don't know that."
"I do," he said simply.
That should've made me feel better. Lighter. Reassured.
But instead, everything in me just stalled again.
Because it wasn't really about Georgetown.
Not fully.
"I told you I'm fine," I added, quieter this time.
He didn't argue with me.
Didn't push.
His hand just slid a little higher along my leg, his palm settling more firmly there before he shifted slightly, guiding me without asking until I was turned more into him, my side pressed against his chest.
The movement was gentle.
Unforced.
His mouth brushed against my shoulder once. Then again, slower this time, like he wasn't trying to make it anything—just something soft, something steady.
"You don't have to do that," he murmured.
"Do what?"
"Pretend."
The word sat there.
Something in my chest tightened before I could stop it, my grip on the glass loosening as I let my head fall forward, my forehead brushing lightly against his shoulder.
"I'm sorry," I said, the words slipping out before I thought about them.
"For what?"
"I don't know," I exhaled. "I just—"
The rest caught in my throat, the feeling rising faster than I could organize it.
I set the glass down on the table without looking, my hands coming back to myself like I needed something to hold onto that wasn't outside of me.
"I'm just overwhelmed," I admitted, quieter now.
His hand moved from my knee to my back slowly.
"With Georgetown," I continued, my voice starting to pick up that edge I hated, "if I get in, I have to tell Vivian I want to step back and that's going to turn into a whole thing with Rodney and I don't—"
My breath hitched slightly.
"I don't know how he's going to react. I don't know what he's going to do and I'm tired of having to think about that before I make any decision about my own life."
My chest tightened more, the words coming faster now.
"I just feel like I don't have control over anything. Not my schedule, not my choices—" I swallowed, my voice dropping. "Not even my own body half the time."
The room settled around that, quiet in a way that didn't feel empty so much as contained, like everything had slowed just enough for the words to actually land.
Grant didn't interrupt or rush to fill the space, his hand still moving along my back in the same slow rhythm, steady enough that I could feel it even when I wasn't looking at him.
He let the moment sit, like he understood it wasn't something that needed to be fixed or softened, just something that needed to exist for a second.
After a second, I let out a shaky breath.
"Thank you," I added, softer. "For... being here."
His hand paused briefly before continuing, the movement settling back into that same steady rhythm against my back.
"I'm not going anywhere," he said, and there wasn't anything heavy in it—no emphasis, no attempt to make it sound bigger than it was.
I turned my head slightly, my cheek brushing his chest as I looked up at him, and something about the way he was already looking back—made something in me loosen without me realizing it.
I leaned in before I could overthink it.
The kiss wasn't rushed, just close in a way that didn't ask for anything more than what it was. His hand came up to my jaw, holding me there gently, letting it deepen just enough before he pulled back first.
A quiet sound slipped out of me before I could stop it.
He smiled a little. "What?"
I shook my head, dropping my face into his chest for a second.
"When are we going to actually... you know," I muttered.
A quiet laugh left him, his chest moving under my cheek.
"I don't know what you know is."
I lifted my head just enough to look at him.
"Grant."
I tapped his shoulder lightly, more playful than anything, but there was something real under it.
He caught my wrist before I could pull it back, not holding it tight—just enough to keep me there.
"Listen," he said, softer now.
The lightness from a second ago faded without it feeling abrupt, settling into something steadier, something that didn't leave room to joke it off or move around it.
Grounded.
"Just because we kiss," he continued, "or touch... that doesn't mean you're telling me it's okay to take it there with you."
I went still.
"You just told me you don't feel like you have control over your body," he added, his voice even, steady. "So why would I make that decision for you?"
Something in my chest pulled tighter at that.
"I'm not saying I don't want to," he said, quieter now. "Because I do."
His thumb brushed lightly against my wrist.
"But when that happens I want it to be something you tell me that you want. Not something that just happens because we got carried away."
The words settled slowly.
I looked at him for a second longer, something shifting into place in a way I didn't expect.
"I get that," I said.
And I did.
More than I wanted to admit.
"I appreciate that." I speak again.
He nodded slightly, like that was enough.
And for a second, neither of us moved.
I stayed there, looking at him, feeling the space he left for me instead of filling it himself.
My hand slid up his chest slowly, like I was testing the feeling instead of committing to it all at once. I let it rest there for a second, my fingers pressing lightly against him as I held his gaze, searching for something I wasn't even sure how to name.
He didn't move it.
Didn't guide it.
Just watched me.
"Naomi," he said quietly.
I swallowed, my eyes dropping for a second before lifting back to his, and this time I didn't look away.
"I want to," I said.
It came out quieter than I expected, but it didn't feel unsure.
Not like everything else usually did.
Something in his expression shifted, subtle but there, like he was registering it without making it bigger than it needed to be.
"Okay," he said.
That was it.
No hesitation. No change in tone.
His hand found mine again as he stood, not pulling me up immediately, just giving me something to follow if I wanted to.
I did.
The movement felt easier than it should've, like my body had already decided before my mind caught up. His hand stayed in mine as we moved toward the stairs, his thumb brushing lightly over my knuckles once, grounding instead of leading.
I didn't overthink it this time.
Didn't stop myself halfway up.
By the time we reached the top, the quiet from downstairs followed us, settling into something softer, more contained as he pushed the door open and stepped aside just enough for me to walk in first.
I paused for half a second, not because I was unsure—but because I was aware of what was about to happen.
The room felt different once the door closed behind us.
Not just quieter—smaller somehow, like everything had narrowed down to just this space, just us, just what was about to happen if either of us didn't stop it.
My hands found him first, sliding up his chest as I stepped into his space again, pulling him closer before he could close the distance himself. My mouth met his with more intention this time, less hesitation.
He didn't take over or shift the pace, didn't turn it into something else. His hands settled at my waist, steady and warm, holding me there without moving me, like he was letting me decide where this went instead of deciding for me.
The kiss deepened slowly, not rushed, just building in a way that felt natural instead of inevitable. My fingers curled slightly against him.
I pressed into him, letting my body close the space completely until there wasn't any distance left between us.
He exhaled softly against my mouth.
The sound of it—low, steady—sent a quiet heat through me, not overwhelming, just enough to make me more aware of what I was doing.
Of how he was reacting.
My hands moved again, slower this time, tracing down his chest. I felt the way his body shifted under my touch, the way his grip at my waist tightened just slightly.
I pushed up onto my toes without thinking, my hands sliding back up to his shoulders the shift in balance made him move with me, guiding us both backward until the edge of the bed hit behind his legs.