Page 192 of That Rush

“Tonight,” he repeats.

“Yes.”

Aiden nods once. “I can give you time.”

The answer offers little reassurance. The future sounds already decided, with Aiden graciously allowing me a longer route to reach it.

“I’m not asking for an extension on a deadline.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“You’re hearing ‘later.’ I’m saying I honestly don’t know.”

His jaw tightens before he leans in and kisses me softly. “I hear you.”

I want to believe him. “Okay.”

He reaches toward the lamp, but I catch his arm.

“Come back.”

Aiden turns off the light and settles beside me. I fit myself against him, my cheek over his heart and his arm secure around my waist. He kisses the top of my head.

“I love you,” he says, his voice a low rumble by my ear.

“I love you too.”

His thumb moves slowly over my wrist as the room falls quiet. Several minutes pass, and his breathing settles into the careful rhythm of a man pretending to sleep.

I stay still against him, just as awake.

I know what he heard: not yet. But that wasn’t the answer I gave him.

Chapter 27

Aiden

Paige has been at my parents’ cookout for forty-three minutes, and my father has managed to feed her twice without inviting half of Larimer County to join us.

“That you know of,” she says when I point this out.

Behind the grill, Dad’s shoulders stiffen. “I invited six people.”

“This is supposed to be a branch cookout,” Mom reminds him.

“They’re practically family.”

“Who are they?” Paige asks.

Dad flips a burger. “People I know.”

She turns to me. “That answer should concern everyone.”

“It stopped concerning us years ago.”

Her laugh comes easily, and I slide my hand along her bare thigh beneath the picnic table, watching for any sign of distance. She gives me none, leaning into my shoulder instead of pulling away. She checked her own calendar and came here because she decided she wanted to.

Every choice is proof we’re moving in the same direction, even if Paige refuses to name where the road ends.