My stomach drops. I blink. “What?”
He smiles like he didn’t just say something insane. “I mean it. You’re not leaving today,” he repeats.
My throat tightens. “I have a flight,” I say.
He shrugs. “I’ll cancel it.”
My pulse spikes. “You can’t just cancel it.”
His gaze holds mine. Unblinking. “Yes I can,” he says.
The calmness in his voice makes my skin prickle. Because it’s not a suggestion. It’s a decision.
My hands tremble slightly on the edge of the counter. “Soren,” I say carefully. “I appreciate this weekend. I really do. I’ve had a wonderful time. But I’m going home today.”
His eyes narrow slightly. “Home,” he repeats. The word looks like it tastes bitter in his mouth. “That’snot home.”
My heart pounds.
Soren exhales slowly, like he’s forcing himself to stay calm.
Then he steps back. And suddenly his tone changes, becomes more intense. “You don’t get it,” he says. “You don’t understand what I’m offering you.”
I swallow. “What are you offering me?”
His smile returns. Slow. Possessive. Like he’s about to say something romantic. Something devastating.
He walks closer again. His voice drops. “I’m offering you a life,” he says. “A real one. Not whatever you’ve been doing. Not whatever that man has been doing to you. Or the one before him.”
My stomach twists.
His hand slides to my waist lightly. He pulls me closer like it’s natural.
Like I belong there.
“You come here,” he murmurs. “You stay with me. You heal. You breathe. I’ll feed you properly. I’ll take care of you.”
My chest tightens.
Because his words sound like safety. Because they sound like rest. Because they sound like surrender.
And my body is so tired it wants to fold into it.
But my mind whispersyou’ve heard this before.
Soren’s fingers press into my waist slightly. Then he says, voice quiet—“I love you.”
The words hit like a punch. I don’t know what to do with them.
My breath catches. I stare at him. “I?—”
He doesn’t give me time. He keeps going, like the words are spilling out because he can’t stop them. “I know it’s crazy,” he says. “I know it’s fast. But I know what I feel. I’m not some idiot kid. I’m not playing.”
My throat tightens. My skin goes hot.
His eyes burn into mine. “I’ve been thinking about you for years,” he says. “And now you’re here. And you’ve been sleeping in my bed. And I’m watching you walk around my kitchen in my shirt like you belong here—.” He exhales sharply. “I’m good for you. Miami is not. I’m not letting you go back to that.”
Letting.