Page 35 of Nate Hayes

And in that moment, under the strings of porch lights and the sound of friends arguing over ribs, I stopped worrying about moving too fast.

Because I wasn’t falling anymore.

I’d already fallen.

18

Willa

The stars were clearer here. Like someone had wiped the sky clean and hung them one by one just for us.

Nate had driven me home, walked me to my porch, and now we sat on the steps like teenagers who didn’t want to say goodnight yet. Pancake was asleep in the grass beside us, snoring faintly like an old man in church.

“You were a hit,” Nate said, nudging my knee with his. “Everyone loved you. Even Axel. And he’s basically allergic to emotion.”

I smiled. “I think it was Pancake. She won them over first.”

“She always does. It’s annoying.”

We sat in a comfortable silence, the kind that only happens when nothing has to be said but everything is felt.

Then Nate turned his head and looked at me, really looked at me, like I was a puzzle he wanted to keep solving forever.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he said quietly. “You belong here. With us. With me.”

My heart thudded against my ribs, slow and heavy. “I’m not used to belonging anywhere.”

“You do now,” he whispered. “And if you ever doubt it, I’ll remind you. Every damn day if I have to.”

He leaned in, slowly, like he was giving me every chance to pull away. But I didn’t want space. Not from him. Not tonight.

Our lips met, soft at first, then deeper. I felt the warmth of his hand against my cheek, the brush of his thumb as he kissed me like I mattered. Like I was already his.

I slid my hands under his shirt, fingers brushing warm skin and hard muscle, and felt the tremble in him. He pulled back just enough to look into my eyes.

“Willa… if this is too fast, tell me. I don’t want to rush you.”

I smiled and curled my hand behind his neck. “Nate, I’ve lived through slow, and I’ve lived through fast. What I haven’t lived through isright.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding that breath for days. “You’re killing me, sweetheart.”

“Then kiss me again.”

He didn’t need to be asked twice.

He scooped me into his lap, my legs draped over his thighs as he kissed me like the world had narrowed down to just the two of us and the whisper of night. His hands roamed my back, my hips, every touch reverent but hungry.

“You feel like home,” he said against my skin as his lips found the curve of my neck. “You taste like summer.”

“Is that a compliment?” I teased breathlessly.

“It’s a damn declaration.”

We didn’t make it past the porch swing that night. Just tangled limbs, laughter, kisses stolen between whispers. Nothing rushed. Nothing forced.

Just us.

He held me until the moon moved across the sky, and when I finally leaned my head on his shoulder, I knew—deep down, where truth lives—

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