Chapter 22
It's all about timing
Violet
The door clicks shut behind Blake and EJ, leaving a silence that seems both heavy and weightless.
William's hands are still on my waist, and we continue swaying together—just the rhythm of our breathing, and the distant hum of the karaoke machine on standby. I’m convinced his touch belongs on my body, like this is where his hands were always meant to rest. The realization terrifies me, because he has a power over me that makes the control freak in me want to give in… and be his.
We move in small circles, our bodies perfectly aligned. His warmth seeps into me, melting the ice I've carefully constructed around my heart over the past weeks. The distance between us—necessary, logical, professional—suddenly seems like the cruelest punishment.
"I miss you," I whisper, the words escaping before I can trap them behind my teeth. "A lot."
He pulls back slightly, enough to see my face, his eyes searching mine.
"This distance," I continue, my voice small. "It's the first time I've... struggled."
William continues tracing circles on my lower back, small touches that send ripples through me.
"Usually, I'm okay with putting distance between myself and other people. It's always been easy, necessary even. But with you—" I swallow hard. "With you, it's not easy."
William's lips curl into a playful smile. "That's because you like me." Then, in a teasing whisper. "No, you probably love me a lot. That's why you feel like this."
My heart hammers against my ribs like it's trying to break free. Words fail me—my usual sharp retorts nowhere to be found. His observation is too close to the truth, and it leaves me vulnerable, exposed.
William leans in, his nose brushing against mine. His gaze is intense, holding me captive as he whispers, "Like I love you."
Heat rushes to my face. I can't look away, can't break this connection even as something inside me cracks open. He kisses my cheek softly, his lips barely grazing my skin, and chuckles at my reaction—probably at how I've turned beet red.
"It's okay," he murmurs. "I'll wait for you to say it. No pressure."
Inside, there’s no denying the truth. The realization isn't new; it's been growing, taking root in me for weeks—months, maybe. But speaking it aloud would make it real in a way I'm not ready for. I don’t want to give him something half-assed. I want to give him everything. No hiding. No care about the world. I can’t give him that now then have to pull away.
It would add complications to our already impossible situation, making the mandated distance even more painful.
William kisses my cheek again, his lips lingering this time. He nuzzles my face, my shoulder, breathing me in like he’s desperate for oxygen after being underwater. I turn my head slightly, pressing my lips to his temple, allowing myself this small indulgence.
He pulls back, and his eyes are different now—gentle but intense, soft yet burning. His hands tighten on my waist, pulling me impossibly closer. He’s hard against me, a fact he doesn't address or apologize for. His heart thunders against my chest, matching the frantic rhythm of my own.
The air between us changes, charged with everything unsaid.
We care a lot for each other; that much is easy to notice when we’re together.
I lean forward and press my lips to his.
The kiss is slow, languid—a conversation without words.
I pour everything into it, all the feelings I can't voice, all the love I can't declare. Yet.
I kiss him again. And again. Each press of lips saying what I can't: I miss you. I need you. I... love you.
His mouth is warm and sure against mine, tasting of the sweet soda he'd been drinking. One hand leaves my waist to cup my face, his thumb stroking my cheekbone with a tenderness that makes my knees weak.
"Vi," he breathes against my lips.
My name in his mouth sounds like a prayer. I capture it with another kiss, deeper this time, my tongue seeking his. His groan vibrates through me, settling low in my stomach.
William pulls back first, his breathing ragged. He rests his forehead against mine, a smile playing on his lips before he kisses me once more—a soft press to my mouth, then my forehead.
"I'm glad we got this moment," he says, voice husky. "Even if it's brief. To be ourselves. To be with each other."
He steps back, reluctantly dropping his hands from my waist. The loss of contact leaves me cold, adrift. But then his hand is at my face, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear with a gentleness that makes my chest ache.
"I love you," he says simply, firmly. "And I'm proud about it. I want you to know that."
The words hit me deeply—beautiful and devastating. I open my mouth, not sure what will come out, when the sound of voices in the corridor breaks the moment. Blake's louder-than-necessary laugh, EJ's animated response—Blake's way of warning us they're returning.
William and I move apart as if by unspoken agreement, settling on opposite ends of the sofa just as the door swings open. Blake enters first, his knowing eyes darting between us, taking in our flushed faces and odd distance.
"We're back!" EJ announces, arms full of small plush toys. "Blake is amazing at the crane game. He won all of these!"
Blake shrugs, the picture of modesty. "It's all about timing."
Indeed, it’s all about timing. And ours is off.