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“That’s never going to happen,” I whisper. “Barring unforeseen circumstances.”

“Good to know.”

There’s a weird silence for a few seconds as I mull things over. I know he likes me; I just don’t know if he likes me enough to take a chance. Up until now, it’s been us having fun, getting to know each other, but we’ve obviously crossed into more serious territory in a relatively short amount of time.

“Cash, most of this stuff boils down to communication. I understand that you went through something with your ex, but don’t assume I’m going to be like her. That’s not fair to me.”

“I don’t. I just don’t want to make another mistake.”

Ouch.

“Do you think our relationship is a mistake?”

“No! That’s not what I’m saying.”

“You’re nervous because you might start to catch feelings.”

His fingers tighten around mine and then, “Too late for that.”

“You have…feelings for me?”

“Now who’s being dense?”

“You’re not the only one who’s cautious.”

“We’re both a little gun-shy, I guess. But I like you, Maya. A lot.”

“Ditto.”

“I’m trying to navigate feelings that are complicated for me. I didn’t think I was ready.”

“And now?”

“Now I don’t have a choice because unless you say you don’t want to do this anymore, I’m not going anywhere.”

We’re already at the restaurant, sitting in the parking lot continuing our conversation, and neither of us seems anxious to go inside.

“I’ve been on board since the beginning,” I say carefully. “I liked you from that night we danced. I ghosted you out of self-preservation because my gut told me you were the kind of guy I could get attached to. Now I am.”

“I’m attached too.”

We look at each other and though it’s hard to determine exactly what he’s thinking, this feels momentous.

And it feels good. Like it’s meant to be.

I’ve felt this way since the beginning and my heart is so full right now, knowing he not only feels the same way but is also willing to have this kind of open, honest conversation.

“So…we’re official?” I ask, searching his face for any signs of discomfort or reluctance but all I see is intensity in his expression.

“I think we are.” He lifts my hand and kisses the inside of my wrist. “Now we should celebrate.”

I chuckle. “Let’s get you fed first. Then we celebrate.”

“Deal.” He leans over and presses his lips to mine. My mouth opens and our tongues move together like we’ve done dozens of times at this point.

But this kiss feels different.

There’s promise in this kiss. Commitment. Solidifying something important.