He kisses the corner of my mouth as a reward for being the one to find the humor. Then he rests his forehead on mine. "You sure?" he asks, even now, and this is new to me, a man who checks the ground before we both step forward.
"This is a mistake," I say. It’s the line I drew for myself. I’m not ready to pretend it never existed.
"Maybe," he says. His thumb traces my jaw. "But it is ours."
I close my eyes, and the barn shifts closer around us, as if it’s listening. "I don’t know how to do this."
"Neither do I," he says. "But I know I don’t want to stop."
"You are going to ruin me."
His voice drops until it is almost a thought. "Not ruin. Remake."
"I have a kid who depends on me. My job pays our rent. My boss wants me to find leverage on you that I do not want to find."
His jaw ticks. For a beat, I think I have cut us both. Then he nods once, and the understanding in his eyes is a shock. "You will do what you need to do to keep your girl safe. I respect that."
"I’m not spying," I say fast, because I need him to hear this. "I will not. I want you to know that."
"Good," he says, and there is pride in it, like I have done a hard thing he wanted for me too. "I don’t want easy, remember."
"Stubborn," I say, but I’m smiling again, helpless against it.
"Pot, kettle," he says, and the rhythm between us settles into something new, something that has the shape of a beginning, whether I’m ready or not.
We stand side by side and listen to the town settle. A single truck passes on the far road, slow and familiar. Someone's radio carries a bit of an old song before a door closes and muffles it.
"I like this," I say before I can stop the words. "The quiet with you."
"I like you in it," he says.
I think I will remember that line when I am old.
"And I still don’t agree with you," I add, because being honest is easier when his shoulder is inches from mine.
"Good," he answers, and he looks down at me with heat and humor again. "I like a woman who makes me fight for it."
"That will not be a problem," I say, and it feels like a promise we both understand.
He turns me gently and kisses me again. This one is clean and simple, as we have both learned the shape of trust and are practicing saying it until it becomes natural. His hand slides up my spine. Mine slides under the edge of his shirt at the back and finds warm, bare skin. The contact sends a shock through both of us, making us catch our breath at the same time. We laugh softly and are slightly astonished.
I tip my head against his chest for one breath because I need steady. The steady is him. I should be more alarmed about that than I am. His heartbeat thumps a calm rhythm against my cheek.
He tips my chin up with his knuckles. "Tell me again," he says.
"What?"
"That this can't last."
I don’t know why he needs to hear it, but I give it because we both have to live in the same town tomorrow. "This can't last." The words come out as a prayer and a dare.
He kisses me again, gently, claiming.
I’m learning how to kiss him goodbye, that still says stay. His hand lingers at my hip as he pulls back, and his gaze moves over my face, searching, holding the words he’s not ready to release. I see him decide to keep them to himself for now, and relief settles in me.
We walk back to the stairs that lead to the small porch just outside my apartment door. He stops at the bottom step. I stop one step higher, and that puts my eyes level with him. He trails a hand down my arm and laces our fingers together for one more second. He looks at my front door, then he looks back at me.
"Text me when you’re inside," he says.