“It’s already past midnight.”
“Then we still have hours.”
He says it like we can bribe the sunrise with cinnamon rolls and good intentions.
I shift closer to him. Our bodies are already touching, we’ve been sleeping tangled together for two nights now, but I want more. Want to close every gap, eliminate every space between us.
“Saul.”
“Yeah?”
“I want,” I stop. Start again. “I want you. Tonight. Before you go.”
He’s quiet for a moment. His thumb traces circles on the back of my hand. “Are you sure?”
“I’ve been sure for longer than I should say out loud.”
“Since when?”
“Since you stood in a grocery store buying four kinds of chocolate chips because you didn’t want me to be disappointed.” I laugh softly. “Since you drove by my apartment at 2 AM to check if my light was on. Since you looked at me after my hair was gone and said, ‘I know’ like you actually understood.”
“I did understand.”
“I know. That’s why I’m sure.”
He releases my hand. Shifts onto his side, facing me fully. His palm comes up to cup my face, gentle.
“Stevie.” My name in his mouth. My real name, the one I keep losing to paperwork and protocols. “I need you to know something.”
“What?”
“This isn’t casual for me. This isn’t a last night thing, or a goodbye thing, or a.” He pauses, searching for words. “I don’t do this. I’ve never done this. With a witness, with anyone since my divorce. I’ve spent years keeping everything professional because it was easier than feeling something.”
“And now?”
“Now I feel everything.” His thumb traces my cheekbone. “And it terrifies me. But I’d rather be terrified with you than safe without you.”
My throat tightens.
“That might be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“I’m not good at romantic. I’m better at practical. Logistics.” Strategic coffee. Chocolate chip diplomacy.”
“You’re secretly a sap,” I whisper. “And it’s kind of hot.”
Then I kiss him. Because if I don’t, I’ll combust and that’s harder to explain on a government form.
It starts slower than I expected, slower than I’m used to. Saul’s mouth is patient like we have all the time in the world, like there’s no countdown ticking in the back of both our minds. Every press of his lips is a promise. Every breath he steals is returned sweeter.
His hands slide into my hair. Tilt my head. Deepen the kiss by degrees.
I make a sound that is definitely not cute and absolutely not FDA-approved.
He smiles against my mouth, enjoying me coming undone. “Patience,” he says.
“Absolutely not,” I whisper back. “I was born three months early and haven’t slowed down since.”
He laughs, that quiet, rumbly thing I keep trying to steal from him, and kisses me harder. “I know. I’ve read your file.”
