Page 67 of The Breaking Point

I frown. “Excuse me?”

He gestures with both hands. “Please. The hair. The perfume. The way your eyes keep drifting to your phone. You’re def going to Booty Town with Lover Boy tonight.”

I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling. “As you so eloquently put it, yes. I’m ready for intimacy. The doc finally cleared us.”

He makes a face. “Cleared? What, like medically? Are you diseased?”

I laugh, then immediately regret it, waving my hands. “No, God, not like that. I meant thetherapist.She finally said we’re emotionally safe enough for… the physical side of things. And yes. I’m ready.”

Grant nods slowly, then claps once. “Well. You go, girl.” A beat. Then, sheepishly: “Sorry. This is my first time having a female friend. I’m kind of figuring it out as I go.”

I smile at him. “You’re doing fine. Just… maybe less talk of Booty Town next time.”

“No promises,” he says, standing. “But I’ll try.”

Five o’clock finally hits, and I all but sprint out of the office.

I’m in my car before Grant can make another “Booty Town” joke. Lipstick reapplied at a red light. A quick fluff of my hair in the mirror as I park. My heart’s doing that fluttery, annoying thing like I’m sixteen again, sneaking out to meet him behind my grandma’s house.

Third floor. I’ve climbed these stairs before. But tonight? Tonight feels different.

I knock. The door swings open so fast, it’s like he was waiting on the other side. Maybe he was. Aiden stands there, barefoot in dark jeans and a black button-down rolled up at the sleeves. His smile’s slow, and he says nothing, just reaches for my hand and pulls me inside.

His apartment’s the same. But not really. It’s a generic company apartment. The overhead lights are off. The only glow comes from a row of mismatched candles on every surface; soft, flickering shadows on old walls and framed prints. The curtains are open to evening sky, and something soft and low plays on a speaker in the corner. It smells like garlic and thyme and something slightly burnt.

He shuts the door behind me with a quiet click, and for a second, I just stand there. Taking it in.

“Hi,” I say softly, smiling up at him.

“Hi,” he murmurs back, leaning down to kiss my cheek, not my lips, not yet. Teasing. “You look…” He doesn’t finish, just lets his eyes trail down and up, slow and warm. Like I’m something he’s not sure he’s allowed to touch.

There’s a little table in the corner; one I’ve never seen set like this. Two plates. Real plates. Napkins folded like swans, probably YouTubed an hour ago. A bottle of wine already breathing. And in the centre, a single candle in an old whiskey glass.

“You cooked?” I say, stepping toward the table.

“Your favourite,” he says. “I burned some of it.”

I laugh, sinking into the seat he pulls out for me. The chair’s a little wobbly, one leg uneven, but I don’t care. My heart is thumping like it’s trying to climb out of my chest.

He sits across from me, pouring the wine, and for a second, we just look at each other across the little table in the little apartment. Not saying a word. But saying everything.

It’s romantic and sweet and everything I would’ve loved… If I didn’t also want to jump across the table and attack him.

Seriously. A month ago, I wanted to launch my heel straight at his stupidly symmetrical face. Now?

Now I want to do things with my mouth that would make Dr. Claudia dramatically close her notebook and go,“Okay, session over.”

He’s talking about the wine. Or the playlist. I have no idea. I can’t hear anything over the drumline in my chest. Reaching across the table, he goes to refill my glass, and his fingers brush mine,and it’s just- God. It’s embarrassing how fast my skin responds. Like my nerve endings are standing at attention, saluting him.

He smirks a little. He knows. Of course he knows.

I chew on a piece of garlic bread like it’s the only thing keeping me from climbing over this table and making very poor, very naked decisions.

“You okay?” he asks, eyes doing that gentle thing that makes me feel seen and peeled open all at once.

“Mm-hmm,” I say, nodding a little too fast. “Totally. Great. Super romantic. Love the bread.”

He leans back in his chair, that lazy smile tugging at his mouth. “You sure?”

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