Page 26 of Outspoken Hearts
I pull her closer, gathering her in my arms, feeling the perfect way she fits against me. Her face tilts up, and I lower my lips to hers in a kiss that feels like coming home. Like a promise.
When we part, I rest my forehead against hers. "No more filtering. No more careful editing. From now on, you get all of me. The good, the bad, the uncertain—all of it."
"And you get all of me. Too-muchness and all."
"I wouldn't have it any other way."
As we sit there, holding each other, I know we haven't solved everything. The Westcott offer still looms. Logistics still need to be worked out. But for the first time, I feel like we're truly facing it together. No masks, no careful distance, just two people choosing each other despite the complications.
And for now, that's enough.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I pace my apartment, phone in hand like a lifeline. Three days since our reconciliation at James's. Days of cautious hope and whispered promises, circling the Boston offer without resolution.
Tonight feels different. I need more than careful.
"Just call him," I mutter, facing the river that flows under our covered bridge.
I dial.
"Eva." His voice warms. "I was just thinking about you."
"Good thoughts, I hope."
"Always." His smile makes my stomach flutter. "What's up?"
"I want to see you tonight. Not about logistics or Westcott. Just... us. A real date with nothing held back. No careful editing."
Silence stretches.
"James?"
"Sorry. That sounds perfect. My place? I could cook."
"No. I want to come over, but don't do anything. No hosting. Just be with me."
"That's exactly what I need. When?"
"Half an hour?"
"I'll be waiting."
Twenty-eight minutes later, I pull into James's driveway, my heart hammering against my ribs. I've deliberately dressed down—worn jeans, a soft sweater, minimal makeup. No armor tonight.
The door opens before I reach it. James stands there in jeans and a faded t-shirt, his feet bare, hair slightly mussed. He looks younger, softer around the edges. More real than I've ever seen him.
"Hi," he says simply.
"Hi." I step inside, letting the door close behind me.
For a moment, we just look at each other, the air between us charged with everything we've been holding back. Then we move at the same time, closing the distance in two quick steps.
His arms wrap around me, solid and warm, as my hands find his face. The kiss is desperate, hungry, months of tension and weeks of connection crystallizing into this single point of contact. I press closer, wanting to eliminate any space between us, and he responds by walking me backward until my shoulders meet the wall.
"God, I've missed you," he murmurs against my mouth.
"It's only been three days." But I know what he means. We've been careful with each other, tentative in a way we weren't before the Boston offer complicated everything.
