Page 146 of Cold Mercy

I clear my throat, forcing a rough, sarcastic edge into my voice to keep from breaking completely. “Careful, Sophia,” I murmur, my hand covering hers on my stomach. “You keep saying nice things like that, and I might get the mistaken impression you actually like me.”

She doesn't answer with words. Instead, a soft, genuine smile spreads across her face, something warm and achingly real. She leans in slowly, her other hand still cupping my chin, and captures my mouth in a kiss.

It’s slow, deep, and impossibly tender, a kiss of pure, unadulterated acceptance. When she finally pulls back, her forehead rests against mine, her eyes searching my face.

“I do like you,” she whispers.

I look at her eyes, really look at them, warm, shining, with a hint of a smile still playing in them.

The words are right there, on the tip of my tongue. Three words I've never said to anyone. Three words I'm terrified to give a voice to.

I pull her back in and kiss her again, hard, quick, and desperate, a frantic attempt to swallow the feeling before it consumes me completely.

While she's getting dressed, I glance at the vanity, and my eyes freeze on the cup, and it's not empty. Inside, tucked next to hers, is the toothbrush I left behind months ago on the day I walked out.

I pick it up, staring at it.

I walk back into the bedroom, a towel wrapped low around my hips, water still dripping from my hair down my chest, holding it up.

“You kept this?”

She freezes with one earring halfway in, a soft pink flush immediately spreading across her cheeks.

“What? No. I just…forgot to throw it away.”

I give her a slow, knowing stare that calls her bluff.

She sighs, dropping her hands. “Okay, fine. Call me obsessed if you like.”

Obsessed. I almost laugh. If she only knew. If she had any idea how many nights I spent staring at her photo, how many times I drove past this house just to see a light on.

She glances up, and her eyes drag down my body, lingering on the V-lines of my abdomen before snapping back to my face. She lets out a breath, covering her eyes with one hand in mock distress.

“Do you have any clothes to put on? Because standing there like that is… distracting, and we have a schedule to keep.”

I smirk.

“I don’t have anything,” I say. “I came here with the clothes on my back. But I have you, that’s enough. I’ll buy whatever I need when we land.”

She lowers her hand, shaking her head with a small, secret smile.

“Yeah… about that.”

She stands up and walks toward the walk-in closet.

“There’s one more thing.”

I follow her into the closet, and the change hits me instantly. Noah's side is completely gone, but the empty space isn't filled with more of her clothes.

On the shelves, neatly folded, are my clothes that I wore when I stayed here. She kept them, washed them, folded them, and gave them a place in her home.

I stop in the doorway, staring at the stack of cotton.

I dreamt about this. I dreamt about my things mixing with hers, about taking up space in her life, but I never thought I’d actually see it. It means she was waiting.

I turn to look at her and find her already watching me, a hint of vulnerability in her eyes as she bites her lip.

A slow smile spreads across my face. I open my mouth to call her out, to tease her about making space for me before I even came back, but she steps forward and presses a finger to my lips.