Page 106 of Checking It Twice
Relief floods his expression, so pure and honest it makes my throat tight.
“So stay,” he says simply.
“I don’t have clothes. Or a toothbrush. Or—”
His hands frame my face, thumbs tracing my cheekbones. “Let’s go by your place and get whatever you need.”
The casual way he says it, like of course we’ll solve this together, makes something flutter dangerously in my chest. Like maybe this is what partnership feels like—not having to figure everything out alone.
“Okay,” I say, the word slipping out before I can second-guess myself. “Let’s go get clothes and my toothbrush.”
His smile is blinding, transformative. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. But I’m driving—you don’t know where I live.”
“Deal.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re standing in my apartment, and I’m seeing it through his eyes. Clean, organized, but somehow sterile compared to the warmth of his place. Like I’ve been living in a hotel instead of a home.
“Nice,” he says, but there’s something careful in his voice.
“It’s fine. Functional.” I move toward the bedroom, hyperaware of him following behind me. “I’ll just grab a few things—”
But when I turn around, he’s standing in my doorway looking at the framed photo on my nightstand—me and Bryn at some long-ago birthday party, both of us laughing at something off-camera.
“Your friend?” he asks.
“Bryn. My best friend since college.” I pull a small overnight bag from the closet, trying to ignore how domestic this feels. “She’s the one who told me I was an idiot for not going after what I wanted.”
“Smart woman.”
“She has her moments.” I start pulling clothes from drawers—jeans, sweaters, enough for a day or two. “She also said I had it bad for you before I was ready to admit it myself.”
The words slip out before I can stop them, and I freeze, underwear halfway to the suitcase. Because we haven’t talked about love, haven’t even defined what this is beyond wanting to spend more time together.
“Was she right?” Mitchell’s voice is quiet, careful.
I look at him then, standing in my bedroom holding that photo like it holds the secrets to who I am. And maybe it does—maybe the woman laughing in that picture is the one I used to be, before I learned to protect myself from wanting things too much.
“Yeah,” I say, the admission rough but honest. “She was.”
He sets down the photo and crosses the room in two strides, pulling me against him with a desperation that matches my own.
“Good,” he breathes against my mouth before kissing me. “Because I’m pretty sure I’ve been falling for you since Minnesota. Maybe even before.”
And there it is. The thing we’ve both been too scared to say, hanging in the air between us like a promise and a threat all at once.
“This is crazy,” I whisper against his lips.
“The best kind of crazy.”
I laugh despite the emotions threatening to overwhelm me. “Help me pack. Before I lose my nerve and decide to stay here where it’s safe.”
“Safe is overrated,” he says, but he releases me to help fold clothes into the suitcase. “Besides, I’m not letting you change your mind now.”
The casual possessiveness in his voice should annoy me. Instead, it makes something warm and secure settle in my chest.
Maybe safe is overrated. Maybe some risks are worth taking.
