Page 113 of Legacy
I hum in agreement, focused on the food more than his words, but they register somewhere beneath the hunger.
“You’re not listening,” he says, a small smile pulling at his mouth. “You’re humming while you eat again.”
Thatsmile—the one that used to undo me.
I swallow and set the fork down, wiping my mouth, forcing myself to look at him.
“I heard you. You didn’t listen. You fought. That’s the theme, right?”
He nods, but his gaze sharpens, searching my face for something.
“I mean it,” he says, voice dropping. “I understand why you don’t trust me. Why you’re angry. I see it. Iseeyou.”
For a moment my heart flatters. My chest tighten.
“Thank you,” I say cautiously.
Dinner passes in quiet after that and when we’re done, I take a chance by helping him clear the table.
He rinses the plates, and I stack them in the dishwasher. We move around each other like we’ve done it a hundred times before.
It feels almost domestic.
When I brush past him, I pause, inhale.
“You smell like mint.”
A small smile tugs at his mouth.
“I always carry them.”
He reaches into his pocket, pulls one out—a familiar clear wrapper, with that white circular mint.
Before I can overthink it, I take it.
Unwrap it. Pop it into my mouth.
And that’s when he says it, quiet, like he’s pulling a thread between us.
“The loft. Five years ago. You kissed me after I popped one in my mouth,” he chuckles, a smirk on his lips.
The memory hits like a spark down my spine.
That moment. Thattaste.The press of his mouth on mine, hungry and young and full of things we never said.
Before I can stop myself, before I can think, I close the distance.
My lips find his.
He freezes for a breath, as if the shock of it short-circuits him. But then his hands are in my hair, gripping like he’s drowning and I’m the only thing keeping him tethered to the surface.
His mouth claims mine—rough, desperate, like he’s been starving for this.For me.
And maybe he has. Maybe I have too.
He turns us swiftly, backing me into the counter with enough force to steal the air from my lungs. I gasp, and he uses it, tongue sliding past my lips with a low groan that vibrates through my chest.
I shouldn’t have started this. I shouldn’t want this.
