Page 94 of Cross Checked
“I said you didn’t have to.”
“I heard you.”
“And ignored me?”
“Efficiently.”
He walked inside like he had stopped needing permission to belong in my space, setting the coffee and bakery bag on the counter with the kind of familiarity that should have scared me more than it did.
The apartment suddenly felt too small, too bright, too filled with him. Last night lived between us, not awkwardly exactly, but there. In the way his eyes held mine half a second too long. In the way my pulse jumped every time his hand moved.In the way neither of us said the obvious thing because saying it would make it real in a way even FaceTime hadn’t.
He leaned one hip against the counter, arms crossing loosely over his chest. “You okay? Tell me you aren’t one of those girls clutching her pearls after a night of fun.”
The words were meant to lighten me up, but his tone was not soft in that careful, breakable way I would have hated. It was direct. Low. Like he expected the truth because he had earned it.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m fine. And I don’t wear pearls.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “That was fast.”
“You told me to use words last night. I’m using them.”
“And I’m supposed to believe the first ones you throw at me?”
I huffed out a laugh because of course he was going to call me on it. Cade had no interest in letting me hide behind cute answers when he knew I was doing it. “I’m okay.”
He studied me for another second, then nodded once. “Good.”
No tender little follow-up designed to make both of us drown in feelings before breakfast. Just good. Just us joking and laughing. And seriously, that was what I needed. Well, that and the nerve to be one hundred with him.
I grabbed my coffee because I needed something to do with my hands. “We need to talk.”
His mouth twitched. “Usually not my favorite sentence, but oh the suspense.”
He was enjoying this.
“It’s not bad.”
“That’s rarely true.”
“It’s not,” I insisted, then took a sip of coffee too fast and burned my tongue. “Shit.”
Cade’s expression warmed with amusement. “Smooth.”
“Shut up.”
“You seem uptight today, Pip.”
I set the cup down harder than necessary. “This is serious.”
His amusement faded, not completely, but enough. “Fine. What’s got you worked up already?”
I hated how easy he made that sound. Like words were just things you put in the air. Like they didn’t come attached to fear, consequences, and the horrifying possibility of being known too deeply by someone who could destroy you.
I turned toward the counter and picked at the folded edge of a napkin. “Last night was…” I stopped because every word available sounded either too small or too honest. Hot. Terrifying. Intimate. A mistake. Not a mistake. Something I wanted again and hated wanting again. “Last night changed things.”
“Yes.”
The answer came immediately with no hesitation.
