Page 48 of What We Don't Say: Part One

Across the room, Idris lifts his gaze from the notebook. His eyes meet mine for half a second, then drop to Theo’s hand. The pencil is trembling between his fingers.

He hasn't used his cards once since he came home.

He has touched them. I have seen him check his pocket and the little dish on the table, seen his fingers brush the laminated edges like a habit. But he hasn't pulled one out. Not when Miller came back for the evening check-in last night. Not when he woke up in the closet nest and found us waiting outside the door. Not during breakfast, when Garrett asked if he wanted the suite left open or closed for the day. He nodded. He pointed. He tapped Callie’s wrist once when she asked if he wanted tea. He has been here with us, choosing in pieces, and I'm so proud of him I want to crawl out of my own skin.

I also want to get Callie off the edge of that cushion before she disappears into the stitching.

I set my mug down and stand slowly enough that Theo hears the movement before it becomes a surprise. His head comes up, eyes wide, and I lift both hands with my palms out.

“Easy, sweetheart. I’m moving because my leg fell asleep, and because Callie is sitting like the couch charges rent by the inch.”

Callie’s eyes snap to mine. “I’m sitting normally.”

“You are sitting like a woman preparing to apologize to furniture.” I cross the room, but I stop beside the coffee table instead of going straight for Theo. The want under my skin has been getting worse all day, warm and restless, a rut-edge hum that turns every breath of Theo’s cardamom and peach blossom into something my body wants to chase. I keep my hands visible because wanting too much is still wanting, and Theo needs to see me choose restraint before he trusts the rest.

Theo watches me, pencil still caught in his fingers.

I crouch near the coffee table, bringing myself below his eye line. “You keep looking at her.”

His face goes pink.

Callie makes a tiny sound. “Sloane.”

I glance at her. “Baby, I love you, but if you try to rescue him from the fact that he wants you, I'm going to bite the couch.”

Garrett huffs from the end of the sectional, a low sound that is almost a laugh. “That seems excessive, even for you.”

“The couch knows what it did.” I keep my voice easy, but my attention stays on Theo. “You’re allowed to look at her. You’re allowed to sit with her. You’re allowed to want her where we can see it.”

Theo’s scent flickers, peach blossom opening under the sharper spice.

Callie’s fingers tighten around her mug. She looks at Theo, then at me, guilt crossing her face so fast I almost miss it. Almost.

I point at her with two fingers. “And you. You’re allowed to be wanted where we can see it.”

Her mouth presses together, but she doesn't argue. That alone tells me how much yesterday scared her. My Callie argues with me over laundry settings, sandwich ratios, and whether a cardigan can have emotional support value. She doesn't sit there quietly unless the worry has hooked deep.

I stand and move to the couch, lowering myself beside her. I leave the space between us open, wide enough for Theo if he chooses it. Then I stretch my arm along the back of the sectional and wait.

Theo looks at the empty cushion.

He looks at Callie.

Callie sets her mug down with careful hands and turns her palm up on the cushion between us.

Theo’s pencil rolls off the book and lands on the rug. He doesn't pick it up. He crawls onto the couch with the kind of concentration that makes the entire room hold still, and he settles in the space beside Callie, close enough that his knee touches her thigh.

Callie doesn't move for half a breath.

Then her fingers close around his.

The scent change that comes off him is so soft it almost hurts. His shoulders drop. His head tips toward her, not all the way, but enough that the line between them becomes visible to anyone with eyes. Callie looks down at their joined hands, and the expression on her face makes my rut-edge flare hot behind my ribs.

I want to put my mouth on her.

I want to put my mouth on him.

I want to gather the whole room against my chest and growl until every doubt knows better than to come close.