Because I had spent the whole morning with my mother admitting I wanted more.
By the time evening started leaning in and we headed back toward my place, the day had taken on that golden, full feeling some days got when they turned out better than you had let yourself expect.
On the drive, I looked over at him with one hand resting lightly on his thigh and realized I did not feel guarded.
So much of what we shared felt rarer than chemistry.
It was effortless.
Peaceful.
And still alive with enough heat to remind me that ease did not mean absence of want.
He parked outside my townhouse and cut the engine.
Neither of us moved right away.
I looked at him.
He looked back.
That same quiet current was there, the one that had started between us weeks ago and kept deepening instead of burning out.
“You staying?” I asked.
He smiled without looking surprised.
“My bag is already packed.”
“See,” I said, shaking my head once he came around and opened the door, “that’s exactly the kind of grown behavior that gets a man in trouble.”
Inside, I kicked off my shoes by the door and watched him set his things down like he already knew how to move in my house without disturbing the shape of it.
That did something to me too.
Him there.
His bag by my console.
The whole quiet ordinariness of it.
He turned just as I stepped into him.
The kiss came easy.
Slow first. Then warmer. His mouth fitting mine with that same blend of patience and appetite that had ruined me for lesser men in a very short amount of time. His hand slid around my waist. Mine settled at the back of his neck. The whole house seemed to go softer around the edges.
When we broke apart, I stayed close enough to feel his breath.
“You were right,” I said quietly.
“About what?”
“Daylight.”
His mouth curved. “Looks good on us?”
I nodded.