She was the one who kept glancing away - to the documents, to the window, anywhere but that steady blue gaze that seemed to see through every defense she could levy against him. But each time she looked back, he was still there, waiting. Patient. Sure.

“Thanks,” she managed. “For coming. After last night, I wasn’t sure if…”

“No problem.” The words were simple, but something in his eyes wasn’t.

The air between them felt thick, difficult to breathe through. Her head was spinning with all the reasons that something someone wanted wasn’t what was best for them, all her walls… they were about to obliterate, in ways she feared and desired.

His head wasn’t spinning at all.

When his hand finally reached out, it wasn’t hesitation she saw in the movement - it was inevitability. Like a ship coming into dock, finding home… hovering in the space between them like a question that demanded an answer.

The distance between his palm and her silk blouse became its own universe - infinite and microscopic all at once. She felt the air shift beneath the fabric, a whisper of movement that produced a heat that thawed what she didn’t know had been frozen. Each millimeter he closed felt like an eternity compressed into heartbeats, the anticipation building until she thought she might shatter from it.

When his hand finally made contact, the silk yielded beneath his fingers like surrender. The heat of his palm seared through the delicate fabric, pressing the weave into patterns against her skin. As he turned her to face him, the gentle pressure at her waist left her dizzy with awareness. His thumb traced an arc just above her hip, and she found herself leaning into the touch without conscious thought, like a compass snapping to its true north.