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Steady.
Warm.
Real.
“Ready to go, Rusty?” he asks quietly.
I look up.
His dark eyes are softer now.
The panic from earlier is hidden beneath exhaustion.
But I still see it.
The fear.
He almost lost me.
And I think—I think it scared him every bit as much as it scared me.
“Yeah.”
His thumb strokes the back of my hand.
We walk together toward the parking lot.
Toward his truck.
And I realize something strange.
Something wonderful.
I don't feel afraid anymore.
Not when he's beside me.
Not when he's holding my hand.
Not when he keeps glancing at me every thirty seconds like he's making sure I'm still real.
We climb inside.
He starts the engine.
But he doesn't pull away immediately.
Instead, he turns toward me.
“Want to go to your place or mine?”
He asks it like it's obvious we'll spend the night together.
Like there's no question.
No awkwardness.
No assumptions.
