Page 195 of That Rush

Fuck.

I have never told Josie that Paige is moving in. I also haven’t treated the space I cleared as temporary. Why would I? I don’t make room for people I expect to leave.

Paige’s face gives nothing away now. The warmth has vanished from her eyes, replaced by a careful neutrality that gives nothing away.

“Am I wrong?” Josie asks.

Mom pushes back from the table. “Come help me choose which pie to put out. Your grandfather bought three because he believes dessert should outnumber the people eating it.”

“There are more people than pies,” Josie says.

“Then we should count before he finds a reason to buy six more.”

Josie hesitates, finally aware that the easy mood has changed.

Paige reaches for her sticky hand. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Go save us from excessive pie.”

“Can I pick chocolate?”

“You should always pick chocolate.”

That earns the smile Josie had a minute ago. She follows Mom toward the house, already explaining why chocolate cream qualifies as the most responsible choice.

Mom looks back once. Her gaze moves from Paige’s rigid shoulders to me, and I understand the warning without words. She saw this shift before I did.

Dad clears his throat and turns back to the grill. Adrienne asks Axel about an event at the brewery, and he answers without one joke at my expense. They’re all trying so hard to give us privacy that the whole fucking table feels involved.

I lower my voice. “I’m sorry. She gets excited.”

Paige looks at me. “About me moving into your house?”

“About you being part of things.”

“She didn’t invent the key or the closet.”

“I know.”

“And the conclusion everyone at this table reached before I did.”

“They know we’re serious.”

“They think I’m moving in.”

“Because you’re here all the time.”

Her expression tightens. “Three nights a week isn’t ‘all the time.’”

“You have a key.”

“I know, Aiden. That’s become very clear.”

She shifts away from my hand when I reach for her knee. The rejection is small enough that no one else should notice, but my palm feels empty against the bench.

At first, I read it as embarrassment. Too many Slades know too much about our private life, and Paige hates having every eye in the room on her. That is manageable. I can get her alone and let her tell me exactly what crossed the line.

The distance she puts between us is a physical thing, and it shoves the irritation from my chest, leaving a cold space for panic. She loves me. She loves being here. The room I gave her was meant to prove she belongs.

“No one is expecting you to arrive with boxes tonight,” I say.