Page 108 of The Games We Play
Her smile faltered, just slightly. Not because the moment had slipped away, but because it had shifted into something deeper, weightier. Her hand came to my cheek, her fingers soft and slow as they traced the line of my jaw, like she was memorizing me all over again, piece by piece.
“Can I admit something?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
My heartbeat kicked up, thudding hard in my chest. I didn’t answer right away—just met her gaze, where something unguarded shimmered just beneath the surface.
I gave her a small nod, holding the space open for her.
“I think I was falling in love with you then,” she said, breath catching on the confession. “I felt… consumed by you. In the best, most terrifying way. But I was scared to admit it because I didn’t think you wanted that kind of commitment.” Her voice wavered, just enough to crack something in me. “I didn’t know what was real, what to believe.”
I felt the tension ripple through her body, her hands tightening slightly against me. I pressed my palms gently into her hips, grounding her, silently telling her I was here and that she didn’t have to hold herself so tightly.
“I wasn’t pretending,” I said quietly, my voice low and steady. “Not for a second. And I know I broke something along the way, but I want to fix it. I want to earn that trust back… earnyouback.”
I knew I loved her, but I couldn’t say it in this moment. The words wouldn’t mean enough, not without action behind them. After everything I’d done, my promises needed to be lived, not spoken.
The silence settled between us again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was full—rich with reflection and possibility, like the past and future were both pressing in on this one moment. We swayed gently, locked in that fragile stillness.
Then she exhaled—a long, slow breath against my chest—and her arms curled tighter around me.
“Can I admit something else?” she asked.
“I’m all ears, Pen.”
“You still make me feel safe,” she said, the words trembling. “There’s something about being near you that feels… calm. Like I can breathe again.”
My throat tightened. “Then let me keep doing that. Let this be our second chance. No games, no walls. Just us.”
A soft buzz came from the kitchen—the timer, probably—but neither of us moved. Her head stayed right where it was, resting on my chest, her breath warm through the fabric of my shirt.
She was thinking, weighing everything in real time. And that alone—her consideration—was more than I deserved. It meant the door hadn’t fully closed.
Penny looked up at me with a soft smirk as the timer continued to blare. “If you burn the breadsticks after all that, you’re never getting invited over again.”
I laughed, brushing my lips to her forehead before letting her go. “You burn one batch of breadsticks and suddenlyI’mthe problem? Bold statement, Trouble.”
I grinned as I turned toward the oven.
“Bold is one of my best traits, didn’t you know?” she asked.
Penny leaned on the counter, sipping her wine as I pulled the tray from the oven and gave the breadsticks a proud once-over. “Perfect golden brown,” I declared. “Feel free to start drafting my redemption arc.”
“Redemption arc?” she scoffed. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
With everything plated and the sauce steaming, we carried our dishes to the small table tucked beside her window. Penny lit a candle for ambiance, she claimed, but I saw the way her eyes flicked toward me when the soft light hit my face.
“This smells amazing,” I said, twirling my fork through the pasta. “You sure you didn’t just charm Rhodes into doing all the hard work?”
“I’ll have you know I diced those tomatoes myself,” she said proudly, then narrowed her eyes. “And when I say ‘diced,’ I mean chopped at them until they vaguely resembled pieces.”
“Sounds like a culinary masterpiece.”
She shrugged. “You’re easy to impress.”
I leaned across the table slightly and whispered, “Only when it comes to you.”
Her fork paused halfway to her mouth. Her eyes flicked to mine, caught off guard as a smile curved on her lips.
I took a bite of the pasta, nodding in exaggerated approval. “Okay… yeah. That’s dangerously good.”
