Page 64 of Heartfelt Goals

His laughter was quiet but real. “Were you?”

“No.”

That single word hung between them, charged with unspoken emotion, thickening the air between them like a brewing storm. Laurel could feel the weight of it settle in the space between them, heavy and unmoving.

They sat close—too close—yet not close enough, their knees nearly brushing, their breaths mingling in the stillness of the room. There was something about the way Dustin looked at her; like he was seeing straight into her soul, stripping her bare with nothing but his gaze. She could hear the unsteady rhythm of his breathing, mirroring the erratic beat of her own heart.

“I didn’t think so,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath, yet it seemed to shake the very foundation of her. His eyes flickered with uncertainty, but there was something else too, something deeper. Longing. Fear. Longing battling fear. “And things are changing for us, despite it all… and I’m scared. I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

Her stomach twisted at the admission. Laurel swallowed hard, fighting the raw emotion rising in her throat. “Why?” she asked, though she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer.

“Because I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”

His words carved into her like a knife, but not because they hurt—because they made her feel. Because they told her everything she already knew, everything she had tried to push down for so long. She had loved him quietly, in the shadows, waiting for him to see her the way she had always seen him. And now, finally, the walls between them were crumbling, brick by agonizing brick.

“I wish you would,” she breathed, the confession slipping from her lips before she could stop it. Her heart clenched as the truth, her deepest, most desperate desire, bared itself between them. If the words were tangible, she imagined they would hover in the air, fragile and dangerous, waiting for him to accept them—or shatter them.

Dustin went utterly still. Not just his body, but his soul, his very being seemed to pause in that moment.

“I wish you’d take a chance on us.”

His breath hitched, his expression shifting, torn between hesitation and the undeniable pull drawing them together.

“This isn’t a game,” he murmured, setting his mug down with deliberate care, as if the movement itself required all his focus.

“No, it isn’t,” she agreed, her voice soft but steady.

He reached for her then, taking her cup from her trembling hands and placing it beside his. The absence of it left her fingers cold and empty. But then his hands found hers, warm, solid, grounding.

“Laurel,” he whispered, her name a plea, a promise, a warning all at once. “Are you sure about this? There’s no going back, and I don’t want just an arrangement. I’m a man. I want things to change between us. I want more. I want a family someday.”

She exhaled sharply, her heart swelling at the vulnerability in his voice. He wasn’t just asking her to cross a line—he was asking her to leap with him into something uncertain, something terrifyingly real.

“Yes,” she breathed, and the relief in his eyes nearly undid her.

His fingers lifted, shaking slightly, and he touched her cheek with a reverence that made her breath hitch. His calloused thumb brushed over her skin, tracing the curve of her face as though committing it to memory. It was the softest touch, yet it sent fire racing through her veins.

He was terrified. She could see it in the way he hesitated, in the way his gaze searched hers like he was waiting for her to take it back, to retreat.

But she wouldn’t.

She couldn’t.

“You’re destroying any last bits of strength within me,” he said hoarsely, his breath ghosting against her lips, and her entire body trembled in awareness.

He was leaning in. Finally.

Her eyes fluttered closed as the anticipation built, the ache of waiting nearly unbearable.

But then, at the last second, doubt flickered in his eyes, and just like that—he started to pull away.

No!

Not again.

Panic surged through her, instinct taking over before she could second-guess herself. She reached out, fisting the front of his shirt, her fingers tangling in the fabric as she refused to let him slip through her grasp again. In one swift movement, she unfolded her leg, tossing it over his lap, anchoring herself to him—forcing him to stay.

Dustin let out a low chuckle, the sound rough and breathless. “How about you let me kiss you this time?”

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