Page 106 of Seven Minutes
He lifted his head just enough to meet my eyes. “I think… this was the first time I didn’t feel scared.”
Something in my chest fissured open.
I stroked his hair, gentle as a breath. “Then we’ll build on that. Touch by touch. As slow as you need.”
His lips curved into an exhausted but beautiful smile. “And Adrian?” he murmured.
“Hmm?”
His thumb brushed my jaw. “You’re the one who saved me today.”
I swallowed hard, pulling him closer.
“No, Eli,” I whispered. “You let me.”
Chapter 38
The Slow Return
ELI
Iwoke up to the smell of coffee and the startling realization that my chest wasn’t tight.
That was new. Or… not new. It was a return to the old me. Someone I thought I’d lost. Something I thought I’d scared off months ago. The anxiety was still there, just… turned down. Dimmed to a glow instead of a wildfire.
I padded into the kitchen to find Adrian barefoot and messy-haired, flipping eggs with the concentration of a man defusing a bomb.
“Morning,” he said, glancing over. His voice was soft, careful without being carefulwithme.
“Morning,” I echoed, surprised at how natural it sounded.
We moved around each other without the usual awkward choreography—none of the stutter-steps, none of the tense, anticipatory pauses. His hip brushed mine when he reached forthe salt. I expected a spike of anxiety, but there was none of that, just warmth.
I cracked an egg far too aggressively, and the shell flew everywhere. Adrian laughed and caught my wrist, brushing the flakes off my knuckles with a kiss so casual it melted me.
“Oh,” I whispered.
He didn’t comment. He just went back to the pan, humming as though this was normal.
Maybe it was becoming normal again.
That afternoon, we went to the grocery store together for the first time in… I don’t know. Too long. The last time had ended in an argument in the pasta aisle, with me snapping and him shutting down.
Today? He grabbed my favorite snack off the shelf without looking, tossing it into the cart with the confidence of someone who knows me in his bones.
I tried not to get emotional over kettle chips. I failed a little.
It was easier to walk with the aid of the cart, its wheels coaxing me to go faster than I should.
“Speed demon,” he warned. “You’re going way too fast for store safety guidelines.”
“Your humor is waning in your old age.”
“Old age?” Adrian’s eyes held a hint of the heat we shared yesterday on the couch. “I didn’t hear you complaining when I?—”
“Shh!”
He leaned back dramatically—too far—and the cereal display wobbled precariously. I snorted. An actual snort. Loud enough that a woman side-eyed me curiously over her yogurt.
