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“That ain't an answer.”

Her eyebrows lift.

“Look who suddenly likes answers.”

“Sweet.”

She reaches for the front of my shirt and curls her fingers in the fabric.

My pulse kicks.

“I love you too.”

My entire chest comes apart.

There is no dignity in it.

I do not care.

Sweet sees everything.

“Wow.”

“Don't.”

“You look traumatized.”

“I am.”

“I said I love you.”

“Exactly.”

She smiles, then it fades just enough to turn serious.

“Don't make me regret it.”

The easy answer jumps into my mouth.

I won't.

I stop it.

Sweet notices.

I take a breath.

“I'll spend every day making choices that give you fewer reasons to.”

Her eyes soften.

“Better.”

Then she kisses me.

This one is different.

Heat lives in it immediately, but so do the days of anger, distance, and wanting each other while refusing to use want as permission.