Lila’s pov

“You’re still not leaving,” I said after the last plate was dried and put away. The kitchen lights were low, just the under-cabinet ones glowing soft against the counters. It was nine o’clock.

The house was quiet except for the fridge and the sound of our breathing.

Logan stood by the sink, drying his hands slower than he needed to. “I should.”

“You keep saying that.”

“I mean it this time.”

I didn’t answer. I just stepped into his space the same way I had been doing all day. Close enough that my chest brushed his arm. Close enough that I could feel the heat still rolling off...