Chapter 35: Thirty Five

“Plans?” I mused, a smile playing on my lips. There was a glint in his eye that made my heart flutter.

He smiled. “Patience, dove.”

He paid the bill, I offered to split it, to which he didn’t even respond.

We had almost reached the car when he paused, turning to look down at me, lightly stroking my cheek with his knuckles. It was like he was always touching me.

“Can I show you something?” he asked.

I tilted my head. “Now?”

He nodded, his expression serious. “It’s not far. I haven’t taken anywhere there in years. And I think you’d like it.”

I searched his face, trying to read what this meant.

“You want to show me a place?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” I said.

I would go anywhere with him.

He smiled, small but genuine, and opened the passenger door for me again. I slid in without protest this time.

The drive was short. Maybe ten minutes, a winding route through the older parts of the city I had not yet been to. I made a mental note that I needed to explore the city more.

And then we pulled into a nearly empty side street flanked by tall iron fencing and ivy covered walls.

Declan turned off the engine and looked at me. “Come on.”

I followed him across the street and through a narrow wrought iron gate, nearly hidden behind climbing vines. We stepped into a courtyard that looked like it hadn’t been tended to in years, cobblestone paths, an overgrown garden blooming with weeds and wildflowers, and a stone bench tucked under a huge, old, oak tree.

“What is this place?” I whispered.

“Technically, a public garden. But no one really comes here anymore. It’s tucked between two private estates and easy to miss. I found it when I was nineteen.”

I turned to look at him.

“Is one of these your private estates?” He shook his head, “My parents live in Boston.”

He sighed, “I used to come here when I felt like I was pretending too hard,” he said. “Before I started teaching. Before I had the job or the rules or the voice people expected me to use. It felt like somewhere I could just exist.”

“And you brought me here?” I asked, a little breathless.

“You make me feel like that excitement I used to feel,” he said. “Plus, you can have this place, too. Come here when you want to.”

My heart twisted.

We sat on the stone bench. The garden was lit only by moonlight and one lone lamppost across the street.

He rested his arm along the back of the bench, not touching me, just in close proximity.

“It’s quiet here,” I said.

“That’s why I like it.”

“You really were a romantic under all that brooding, mean, strict professor energy, weren’t you?”

He chuckled. “Not for everyone.”

I turned toward him slightly. “I like this side of you. But I like that side, too. I like the version of you who wants me so bad you would risk so much for me.”

“I like every version of you, dove.”

He looked at me then. And I felt it again, that pull. That slow blooming warmth that had nothing to do with wine or candlelight or even the night. Just him. That pull I had had for him since I had first seen him.

Being with him felt like pieces were falling into place.

He leaned in slightly, but stopped.

“I want to kiss you,” he said. He began to lean in, but stopped himself, “Can I kiss you, Willow?”

I didn’t say anything.

I just leaned in the rest of the way and closed the space.

His lips were soft, steady, sweet. His hand slid to the side of my neck, thumb brushing my jaw, and everything in me went quiet. Every voice, every fear, every moment before this one - just quiet.

When we finally pulled apart, I stayed close.

“I’m scared,” I admitted.

“So am I,” he whispered.

“But I’m here.”

“So am I.”

_

The car pulled up to my building, and for a moment, neither of us moved.

The street was still and hushed under the soft glow of the streetlights.

Declan turned off the engine and looked over at me. “I’ll walk you.”

“You don’t have to,” I said, but my voice was barely above a whisper.

“I want to.”

He got out and came around to open my door like it was the most natural thing in the world. I stepped out, his jacket now draped around my shoulders, and together we walked the few steps to the front door of the building.

We didn’t speak.

There was nothing left to explain. The quiet between us was full, with all the tension, all the possibility, all the longing we were finally letting surface. And it felt simple, easy, sweet, even.

At my door, I turned to face him. We were close. The kind of close that didn’t need excuses.

He reached up and brushed a strand of hair from my face, letting his fingers linger at the edge of my cheek. His touch was slow, reverent. His eyes on me were soft.

“Tonight was…” I began.

“Yeah,” he said, finishing it without needing the words. “For me too.”

I studied him in the low light, the soft curve of his mouth, the tired warmth in his eyes, the subtle tension in his jaw like he was still holding something back.

“We should be careful,” I said quietly.

He nodded. “I know.”

“We can’t exactly… let this be known. Ever.”

“I know, dove.”

There was a beat, and then he smiled, just a little. “But it doesn’t make it any less real.”

I felt something in my chest loosen at that.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” I admitted. “I don’t want to ruin something before it even starts. I like you too much.”

“You won’t,” he said, without hesitation. “I like you too much, too.” He smirked, “Too much for your own good, Willow.”

He leaned in then, slow and deliberate, and pressed a kiss to my forehead. His lips lingered, and I felt the soft promise of more kisses to come.

When he pulled back, I found myself smiling without trying to.

“Goodnight, Willow.”

“Goodnight, Declan.”

I stood there at the door until he walked back down the steps and disappeared into the quiet night.

And only once the sound of his car faded down the street did I finally go inside, jacket still around my shoulders, heart full of something I hadn’t let myself feel in a long, long time.