Chapter Seventeen #3
His mouth curved, but his eyes were bright.
“I won’t.”
“You are.”
“I’m trying not to.”
“Try harder.”
He breathed a laugh.
The room warmed.
I let it.
Then I said, “But I need slow.”
“Yes.”
“I need honest.”
“Yes.”
“I need you to tell me when hockey pulls at you, when your dad worries you, when you don’t know what you’re doing. Not after. Not when it’s pretty. While it’s messy.”
“Yes.”
“And I need to be able to say I’m scared without you treating it like a problem to solve.”
Crew’s jaw tightened, not with anger.
With recognition.
“Yes.”
“And if the town starts pushing, we do not let them steer.”
“No.”
“And if this becomes too much, I get to say so.”
“Always.”
The word wrapped around the room.
Not too much.
Just enough.
Crew’s voice lowered.
“I need things too.”
I nodded, though nerves sparked.
“Okay.”
“I need you to tell me when I’m doing the old thing.”
“I already do.”
His mouth twitched.
“Yes. Vigorously.”
“Good.”
“I need you not to decide I’m leaving before I leave.”
That one hit.
I looked away.
He continued gently.
“I know why you expect it. I earned that. But if I’m here, let me be here until I prove otherwise.”
My eyes burned.
I hated that.
I hated needing to be fair to the man who had hurt me.
But I wanted fairness now.
Not for him only.
For me.
Because fear was exhausting.
“Okay,” I said.
He exhaled.
“I need one more thing.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“If I come back after Monday, and you decide this is not what you want, tell me.”
My throat tightened.
“Crew—”
“I’m serious. Don’t keep me because Tom loves you. Don’t keep me because the town expects it. Don’t keep me because I’m trying. Trying does not obligate you.”
My heart hurt.
Beautifully.
Painfully.
“You are making it very hard to argue with you.”
“I’m not trying to win.”
“Also annoying.”
He smiled faintly.
“I’m trying to be clear.”
I leaned back in the wobbly chair.
It rocked.
This time, Crew’s hand did not move.
Good.
Learning.
Dangerous.
“So what is this?” I asked.
His eyes searched mine.
“I think that’s your call.”
I gave him a look.
“Do not hand me all the emotional labor just because you learned consent.”
He blinked.
Then laughed.
Actually laughed.
I smiled before I could stop it.
His laughter faded, but the warmth stayed.
“Fair,” he said. “Then I’ll answer first.”
“Good.”
“I think this is not fake anymore.”
My pulse jumped.
He continued, “And not fixed yet. And not simple. But not fake.”
My throat tightened.
Not fake.
That felt right.
Scary.
But right.
“I can agree to that,” I said.
His eyes softened.
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
“And the kissing?”
Heat climbed into my face.
I pointed at him.
“Careful.”
“I am being careful. I’m asking.”
“Annoyingly well.”
His mouth curved.
I looked toward the kitchen window.
Sunlight caught the sill, bright and ordinary.
“Under very controlled conditions,” I said slowly, “the kissing was not terrible.”
Crew’s eyebrows lifted.
“Not terrible.”
“Do not fish.”
“I would never.”
“You would. You played hockey.”
“Moderate fishing.”
I bit my lip.
His eyes dropped to my mouth.
Then back up fast.
Good man.
Terrible man.
“Extremely controlled conditions may happen again,” I said.
His voice came lower.
“Do you want that now?”
The room went silent.
No fireworks.
No crowd.
No hospital.
No roof.
Just the question.
And my choice.
My heart beat hard, but not with panic.
With want.
With fear, yes.
But not fear first.
I stood.
Crew stayed seated.
Waiting.
I crossed the small space between us and stopped in front of him.
His eyes lifted to mine.
Still waiting.
Still giving me room.
I set one hand on his shoulder.
His breath caught.
That sound did terrible things to my confidence.
Good terrible.
I leaned down.
Then stopped a breath from his mouth.
“If you make this weird, I will blame you.”
His voice was rough.
“Understood.”
I narrowed my eyes.
He closed them briefly.
“Sorry.”
I kissed him before he could correct it.
This kiss was different from the fireworks.
No crowd to hide in.
No sky to blame.
No boom to cover the sound he made when my fingers slid into his hair.
Crew’s hands stayed at his sides for one impossible second.
Then I took one of them and put it at my waist.
His fingers spread carefully, like even now he was listening.
The restraint nearly ended me.
I climbed onto the couch beside him, not onto him, because I had standards and a wobbly armchair was not emotionally supportive.
He turned toward me.
Slow.
Careful.
I kissed him again.
Closed-door.
High-chemistry.
Every inch of me awake and furious about it.
His hand stayed at my waist. The other lifted to my cheek, thumb brushing once near my jaw. He kissed like he had learned patience the hard way and was afraid to spend it too quickly.
I loved that.
I hated that.
I kissed him harder.
He made another low sound and pulled back by sheer force of character.
Forehead almost touching mine.
Breathing uneven.
“Marin.”
“What?”
“If slow is the rule…”
I closed my eyes.
Because yes.
Because no.
Because growth was hideous and timing was a criminal.
“I know.”
His hand flexed once at my waist, then relaxed.
“You are very annoying.”
He smiled, breathless.
“I’ve heard.”
I rested my forehead against his shoulder for one second.
Just one.
He held still like he understood it was not a hug exactly, but it was not nothing.
Then my phone rang.
Of course.
Because the universe hated timing and respected no couch.
I groaned.
Crew’s laugh brushed my hair.
“Do not laugh while I’m vulnerable.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
The phone rang again.
I pulled back and checked.
Talia.
I answered.
“What?”
Talia said, “Before you yell, I waited thirteen minutes.”
I closed my eyes.
Crew looked extremely interested in the ceiling.
“What do you want?”
“Mrs. Paxton is downstairs with Mayor Halford.”
“No.”
“They want to discuss tonight’s donor thank-you dinner.”
“No.”
“She says it is privacy-forward.”
“No.”
“And the mayor brought revised note cards.”
I looked at Crew.
Crew looked back.
Then both of us started laughing.
Not because it was funny.
Because of course.
Talia paused.
“Oh my gosh.”
“What?”
“You’re with him.”
“No.”
“You are. You laughed together.”
“People can laugh near other people.”
“Sure, Mason.”
I hung up.
Immediately.
Crew was still smiling.
I pointed at him.
“No commentary.”
“I have none.”
“You have several.”
“All inappropriate.”
My face heated.
His smile turned softer.
Dangerous.
I stood.
He stood too.
We put ourselves back together without saying that was what we were doing. I smoothed my shirt. He ran a hand through his hair. I fixed my ponytail. He looked like a man who had been kissed and then remembered mayors existed.
Good.
Let him suffer.
At the door, I paused.
He stopped behind me.
“Crew.”
“Yeah?”
I looked back.
“This is not fake.”
His expression changed.
Open.
Hit.
Happy in a way that made my chest ache.
“No,” he said quietly. “It’s not.”
“But it is still private.”
“Yes.”
“And slow.”
“Yes.”
“And if anyone downstairs says couple, I’m throwing a cinnamon roll.”
His mouth curved.
“I brought one.”
I stared at him.
“You did?”
“In the truck.”
“Why?”
“You told me to bring one yesterday.”
My heart did the stupid thing again.
Remembered.
He had remembered a joke about a roll.
Absolutely ridiculous.
Completely unfair.
I opened the door.
“Fine,” I said. “But I’m choosing the target.”
He followed me down the stairs.
“Obviously.”
The bakery was waiting.
Talia was behind the counter wearing a grin sharp enough to slice bread.
Mrs. Paxton stood near the pastry case with Mayor Halford and two note cards.
The mayor looked nervous.
Good.
He should.
Crew stepped beside me.
Not touching.
Not performing.
But there.
Mrs. Paxton’s eyes moved between us.
Widened slightly.
Then, miracle of miracles, she said nothing.
Character development indeed.
Mayor Halford cleared his throat.
“I brought revised language.”
I held out my hand.
He gave me the card.
Crew leaned close enough to read, but not too close.
The card said:
Thank you to the volunteers, donors, Webb & Whisk, the Spitfires, and Sergeant Donnelly’s family and friends for making this Fourth unforgettable.
No couple.
No hearts.
No romance.
I looked at Crew.
He looked at me.
Family and friends.
That worked.
For now.
I handed the card back.
“Approved.”
Mayor Halford sagged with relief.
Talia muttered, “He lives another day.”
Mrs. Paxton smiled.
“We’re learning.”
“We’ll see,” I said.
My phone buzzed.
Crew’s phone buzzed.
Talia’s phone buzzed.
Everyone froze.
Slowly, I looked down.
A new comment on the thank-you post.
From Tom.
Tom Donnelly: Being busy is not protein. Come to dinner hungry.
I stared at it.
Crew stared at it.
Talia whispered, “Merch.”
“No,” I said.
Crew’s mouth twitched.
Mrs. Paxton opened her mouth.
I pointed at her.
“No.”
She closed it.
Then my phone buzzed again.
Tom, direct text.
Tom: Donor dinner tonight. Bring Crew. Or don’t. Your call. But bring pie.
I looked at Crew.
He had received the same message, apparently minus the pie.
His eyes held mine.
Your call.
I was starting to understand something.
Maybe love was not one grand choice.
Maybe it was a series of smaller ones.
Coffee.
Keys.
Truth.
Hand.
Kiss.
Pie.
I typed back:
Me: I’ll bring pie.
Then, after one terrifying second, I added:
Me: And Crew.
I sent it before I could panic.
Crew’s phone buzzed.
He read whatever Tom forwarded him.
His eyes lifted to mine.
Soft.
Bright.
Dangerous.
I pointed at him.
“Do not make it weird.”
His smile spread.
“I won’t.”
Liar.
He already had.
But this time, when the weirdness arrived, it did not feel like a cage.
It felt like a door I had chosen to open.
And downstairs in Webb & Whisk, with the ceiling repaired, the fundraiser closed, the mayor supervised, and Captain Problem standing beside me like he had finally learned how to stay without crowding the room, I let myself smile back.