Chapter 5 The Almost Kiss

AVA

I woke up thinking about him.

Not just the way Nathan Rivers looked-though, God, that alone could unravel a girl-but the way he noticed things. Like how my fingers always found my necklace when nerves started creeping in. How they danced when I was thinking too fast for words. How my voice softened when I talked about something I loved, or how I always looked out the window when I needed to hide what I was really feeling.

He didn't just look at me.

He saw me.

And now I couldn't stop wondering... would he keep seeing me?

The silence between texts felt louder than it should have. Was it space, or disinterest? Maybe I'd imagined everything-that magnetic pull, the ease, the way my name sounded different when he said it. Maybe he was just one of those people. The kind who make you feel like you matter-for a moment-and then disappear, leaving you wondering if you ever really did.

But all that self-doubt evaporated the second I walked out of Lit class.

He was there.

Leaning against the wall like he belonged to that moment, holding two cups of chai, like it was the most casual thing in the world. Like this was just another Monday.

Only... it wasn't.

Our eyes met, and something shifted inside me-like gravity tilting.

"Figured I'd tempt you," he said, offering one of the cups.

I raised an eyebrow, hiding the way my pulse skittered. "With caffeine and cinnamon?"

He grinned-that lazy, confident grin that made my knees feel less reliable. "With time. And me."

I rolled my eyes, but my heart tripped over itself anyway.

I took the cup, fingers brushing his, and something sparked there. Something small and electric. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

We walked side by side, and the silence between us wasn't awkward-it was warm. He never rushed to fill space with meaningless noise. He let it be. Like the moment mattered more than the chatter.

When we finally stopped, I stared at the place in front of us-the old greenhouse behind the art building. Overgrown and wrapped in ivy, sunlight streaming through cracked glass panels. It looked like something out of a dream.

"This is your secret lair?" I asked, still a little breathless.

He nodded, pushing open the creaky door. "My hideout. No one really comes here anymore."

The second I stepped inside, I felt it. That hush. The warmth. The way the air shimmered with green and gold. It didn't just smell like earth-it smelled like possibility.

"Why show me this?" I asked, the words barely above a whisper.

He looked at me then. Really looked. "Because I want you in my world."

My breath caught.

Again.

God, what was it about him?

We sat together on an old bench, half-shadowed by hanging leaves. Dust floated in beams of sunlight like tiny stars. And for a while, we just sat.

Then, softly, he said, "I like the way your mind works. The way you don't play games. Most people wear masks. You don't."

I turned toward him, heart stammering. "Then why do I feel like I'm still figuring you out?"

He gave a small, unreadable smile. "Because I'm still figuring me out too. But when I'm with you... it feels easier."

And just like that, the air between us shifted.

Charged.

Heavy.

He moved slightly closer. Our knees brushed-and neither of us moved away.

Then his hand came up-slowly, carefully-and brushed a strand of hair from my cheek. His fingers lingered, warm and steady. His gaze held mine, full of something deep and quiet and overwhelming.

I could feel the kiss before it even happened.

The air trembled with it. My breath caught. His face was so close I could see every fleck of gold in his eyes.

But then... he paused.

Not out of hesitation.

Out of intention.

"When I kiss you, Ava..." he murmured, voice barely audible, "I want it to be the moment you need it. Not just when you expect it."

I didn't move. Couldn't. My lips parted. My body leaned forward instinctively. My heart thundered like it knew something I didn't.

But he didn't kiss me.

He just pulled back, slowly, eyes still on mine.

"Not yet," he said.

And somehow, that felt louder than any kiss ever could.

Because it didn't sound like an ending.

It sounded like a promise.

He walked me home not long after, and we didn't talk much-but we didn't need to. His jacket still hung around my shoulders, carrying the scent of him like a secret.

Zoe asked a million questions that night.

I didn't have the words.

All I could do was smile like something had shifted inside me.

Because it had.

He didn't kiss me.

But something in me had already fallen.

And sometimes, the almost-kisses-the ones that burn and hover and ache-leave the deepest marks of all.