#age!gap

Heat shot straight up her neck. She tried to focus on the lump of clay, but his palm was spread over hers, warm and steady, and she couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d touched her the last time they were together, the Thursday before (though that night was spent just in her apartment and mostly in her bed).

“Careful,” she said quietly. “You’re going to make me mess it up again.”

“It’s already ruined,” he teased, nodding at the uneven lip of the bowl. “But you’re trying. That’s what counts.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile stayed put. She was having a lot of fun, even if she was awful at pottery work. He'd promised her that they'd actually go out and do something fun this time. She liked it. Liked that he’d planned this as an actual date, not just another excuse to get her into bed. Which part of her worried about, with any guy, not just him.

His hands left hers, and she turned, watching him move away to pick up a rag.

“Let’s call it a masterpiece,” he said, wiping his palms on a towel. “You hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Good.” He met her gaze, soft and lingering. “I want to feed you. Then I want to take you home.”

Her stomach flipped at his words. She wiped her hands clean and tried to pretend her cheeks weren’t burning. But when he took her coat off the back of the chair and held it out for her, she didn’t bother hiding her smile.

The sidewalk was slick from an earlier drizzle, the streetlights turning every puddle into a scattering of gold and red reflections. Y/n felt almost weightless when Harry laced his fingers through hers as they walked. She was still getting used to him.

It was stupid how much it meant, that simple gesture. That he’d hold her hand like that in public, like he wasn’t even thinking twice about it. It felt good, being with him. Easy. Like they’d done it a hundred times already.

Harry glanced down at her as they reached the corner. “You cold?”

“No.” She smiled, leaning closer just because she could. “I’m fine.”

He squeezed her hand lightly, and they turned the corner toward the little restaurant entrance, golden light spilling out onto the sidewalk. That was when the woman stepped into their path. Pretty. Sleek dark coat. High-heeled boots that clicked confidently against the pavement.

Harry slowed, his hand loosening from around Y/n’s.

“Harry?” the woman said, her eyebrows lifting in polite surprise.

Y/n blinked up at her, thrown by the way he'd let go of her hand and in the way she was looking at him.

“Sloane,” Harry said evenly.

Sloane’s gaze slid to Y/n, and for a split second, something sharp flickered behind her eyes before her expression smoothed over. “Crazy running into you here.”

Y/n felt the question rising in her throat—Who is this?—but before she could ask, Sloane smiled, all polite curiosity.

“And… you are?” she prompted, looking at Y/n directly.

“I'm Y/n,” she said, glancing from Sloane to Harry.

“Y/n.” Sloane nodded slowly, lips pressing together. "Let me guess… You're his niece? The one from out of town?"

Her brows pinched together as she glanced up at Harry. She didn't even realize he had a niece. That wasn't something they'd discussed yet.

Harry’s jaw ticked. “She’s not my niece.”

“Oh.” Sloane let out a small, surprised sound, her gaze swinging back to Y/n. “I see.” She paused, studying her for an extra beat, eyes scraping over her frame, before her lips curved again. “Sorry. Just… you look so young. It threw me off. Surely this isn't some kind of date…”

Y/n swallowed, trying to ignore the flush climbing her throat. “I’m not that young.”

"This is a date, actually," Harry said.

Sloane hummed, tilting her head thoughtfully. “Well. That’s nice, Harry.” She flicked her eyes toward him, the corner of her mouth lifting. “I didn’t know you were into…”

Harry’s brows lifted. “Into?”

Sloane waved a hand, dismissive, a laugh trickling from her throat. “Oh, you know. Younger women. It’s sweet. Keeps you young, too, I suppose.”

Y/n opened her mouth, then shut it, unsure whether to feel embarrassed or annoyed. Her voice was calm when she finally spoke. “We’ve been seeing each other, a while.”

“Have you?” Sloane’s gaze sharpened, yet somehow her expression was still pleasant. “Aww, cute. How long?”

Y/n didn't appreciate the condescending tone.

Harry’s voice was even. “About two months now.”

Sloane blinked once, the only crack in her practiced composure. “Two months,” she repeated softly. “Well. That explains it, I guess.”

“Explains what?” Y/n asked, before she could think better of it.

Sloane’s smile thinned. “Nothing. Just… a bit of confusion about why our plans fell through about two months back.” She turned her eyes to Harry again. “I imagine this is why you cancelled on me?”

Harry’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t deny it. “Yeah.”

For a moment, no one spoke. A car crawled past, headlights sweeping over the three of them in a long, uncomfortable arc.

Sloane’s polite tone returned like a switch had been flipped. “Anyway. I won’t keep you. Enjoy your evening.”

She gave Y/n a final, assessing look that somehow made her feel like she was standing there in a too-short skirt and borrowed shoes, even though she knew she looked fine.

Then Sloane turned and walked off, her heels tapping briskly down the sidewalk. Harry let out a quiet exhale. Y/n didn’t look at him. Her pulse was beating hot in her ears.

“Y/n,” he said gently.

She shook her head, voice tight, eyes focused on the restaurant. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not. I can tell you're upset.”

“I said it’s fine.”

When she finally forced herself to look at him, his expression was serious, eyes searching hers. His hand closed around hers again, thumb brushing over her knuckles.

“Come on,” he murmured. “Let’s go inside.”

She let him guide her to the door, but the heat in her chest didn’t fade. And she couldn’t stop hearing Sloane’s voice in her head, all honeyed sweetness over something sharp.

You look so young. It’s sweet. How cute.

The hostess led them to a small table near the window, the soft glow of string lights overhead doing nothing to ease the tight knot in Y/n’s chest. She wasn't jealous… Not of Sloane. Though the fact that she knew something about a niece who lived out of town while Y/n didn't, felt strange. It was the first time she'd felt so out of place next to Harry since they'd started dating.

Harry pulled out her chair for her, but she sat without meeting his eyes. When he took the seat across from her, she could feel him watching, even as she pretended to study the menu.

A beat passed. Then another. “Y/n,” he said quietly.

She kept her eyes on the drink list. “Hmm?”

“You sure you're okay?”

“I am.” She flipped a page, ignoring how her voice trembled just annoyingly. “I'm fine.”

His brow creased. “Something's got to you.”

She forced a small smile as she finally looked back up at him, though it felt thin on her face. “Can we not do this here?”

He watched her for another long moment before nodding once, settling back in his chair. “All right.”

She hated how relieved she felt when he didn’t push. She needed to get her thoughts in order anyway before they talked it out. But the reprieve only lasted until the server came to take their order.

Harry asked for a steak and a glass of red. She ordered pasta she knew she wouldn’t eat much of, her stomach already in knots. She was being silly. Or… maybe she wasn't.

When the server left, Harry folded his arms on the table, studying her. “You know she doesn’t matter. Right?”

Y/n traced the rim of her water glass with her fingertip.“I’m aware.”

His voice softened. “Then why are you acting like something bad just happened between us?”

She huffed a quiet, humorless laugh, eyes still fixed on her glass. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I just…” She stopped, shaking her head. “It’s stupid.”

“Try me.”

“It’s nothing, Harry. Can we please just not?”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. He shifted back when the food arrived, thanked the server, and set into his meal without comment. He was frustrated, made obvious by the tension pouring from the set of his shoulders.

She pushed pasta around her plate, appetite long gone. Her mind kept replaying Sloane’s voice, the way she’d looked at her like she was some novelty that Harry had picked up along the way. A temporary distraction.

You look so young. I didn't know you were into…

Why did Harry like her even? What did they really have in common? Was he one of those men who liked the younger ones? Easier to manipulate, someone with less experience who wouldn't give him too much lip? Y/n didn't feel like she was a pushover, but what if she'd gotten it wrong? Maybe he was just enjoying fucking a pretty young thing because he wasn't serious about their future.

When she finally glanced up, Harry was watching her steadily, his expression unreadable.

“You’re not eating,” he said quietly.

“Yeah, I am,” she said, stuffing a forkful into her mouth and chewing as she raised her brows.

His eyes narrowed a fraction. “Y/n.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, softer this time, though she knew he didn’t believe it. She didn't believe it herself. But she didn't want to get into it at the restaurant in front of everyone. She'd come out looking like the dumb young girl who was overreacting.

They finished in tense silence, her fork barely touching the food again, other than a few mouthfuls to prove that she was eating something. The only sounds were the muted clink of silverware and the low hum of conversation from other tables.

When the check came, Y/n offered her card, but Harry waved her off and paid without comment. He stood and held her coat out for her, but she couldn’t quite meet his gaze as she slipped her arms into the sleeves.

Outside, the night felt colder than before. She kept her hands stuffed in her pockets instead of reaching for him. Harry didn’t say a word as they walked the short block to where he’d parked. He unlocked the car, stepped around to open her door, and waited while she slid in.

The moment he closed his own door and settled behind the wheel, she felt the hush of the car wrap around them. No music, no chatter from nearby tables, no reason left to keep pretending.

He didn’t start the engine. He just sat there, hands resting on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead.

“Are you going to drive?” she asked, though her voice came out small.

“Not until you tell me what’s going on,” he said calmly, turning to look at her.

She shifted against the seat, pressing her palms over her thighs. “I told you. It’s silly.”

“Are you jealous of her? Cause you shouldn't be.”

“Harry…”

He turned his body toward her. The low light from the dashboard cut across his face, tracing the lines of tension around his mouth.

“I’m not taking you home like this,” he said quietly. “If you don’t want to talk to me, fine. But I’m not going to pretend everything’s okay when it’s clearly not. You're upset about something.”

A knot tightened in her throat and she swallowed around it. “I'm not jealous, so you know. The issue is… It's… dumb.”

“Then humor me.”

She rubbed her thumb over the seam of her coat, trying to gather the mess of her thoughts into something she could say out loud. “It’s just… that woman.”

“Sloane.”

“Yeah.” She hesitated, eyes fixed on the dash. “I know it’s not about her, not really. But she—” Her voice caught, and she pressed her lips together.

“She what?”

“She looked at me like I was… like I was this stupid little girl you picked up for fun. At least that's how it made me feel.”

His brow furrowed. “That’s not what this is.”

“I know.” She forced herself to look at him. “I do know that. But it made me think… about the age thing.”

His expression didn’t change, but she felt the heat rush up her neck as she continued. “I mean… we’re at different places in our lives. You’ve got kids, an ex-wife… a whole history I’m never going to be part of. And me…” She let out a breath. “I’m just some… twenty-something who doesn’t know what she’s doing.”

The confession hung there, raw and unpolished. She could feel her pulse hammering behind her ribs. The more she spoke, the dumber she felt.

Harry drew in a slow breath, his gaze steady on hers. “Is that what you think I see when I look at you?”

She didn’t answer because she wasn’t sure.

He reached across the console and covered her hand with his. “Y/n. If I wanted something easy… someone who didn’t have opinions or who was just here to make me feel young, I wouldn’t have come looking for you." He pushed out a laugh. "You're smart, outspoken, feisty… and to me, you and I get along really well. I don't really think much about the age difference.”

Her eyes burned. She tried to blink the heat away, but it didn’t help. “Then what is this? Because I…” She swallowed. “I really like you. And maybe that’s stupid, but I do. And I don’t know what this is to you.”

He was quiet for a long moment. Long enough that her heart sank, sure she’d just made everything worse. Then he gave her hand the smallest squeeze.

“It’s not stupid. And it’s not nothing. You’re not nothing to me.”

She felt something crack in her chest, relief and fear tangling so tightly she couldn’t pull them apart. He seemed so sincere. It was in his eyes, in the way he seemed so sure of what he said. She let her eyes wander over the numbers on the clock on his dashboard briefly.

Harry’s voice softened. “Look at me.”

She shifted her gaze back up to his again

“I like you,” he said simply. “I like you more than I've liked anyone in a really long time. And it’s not about your age. It’s about you. Like, genuinely, Y/n. I like you.”

Her throat tightened, her voice a whisper. “I don't know what to think sometimes. Because I really like you. One of my friends even warned me not to get attached because chances were you'd regret this or decide you'd had your fun and be done. I want to prove that that's not true, but I don't know… After what Sloane said…”

His jaw flexed, and for the first time that night, something like anger flashed in his eyes. Not at her, but at the idea itself. “People like that don’t know shit about us. They'll see soon enough that we're solid.”

She blinked, a shaky laugh escaping before she could stop it. Her grin widened as his did.

His thumb brushed over the back of her hand again. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Not to Sloane, not to your friends, not to me.”

“But I feel like I do.”

He nodded, as if he understood more than he was saying. “Then let's figure this out together. Yeah? Probably time to really sit down and talk about what this is.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy this time. It was tentative. Careful. But it felt gentle and hopeful.

Finally, he released her hand and started the engine. “All right,” he said, his voice low as he started up his car. “Let’s go back to mine and we'll talk about all this.”

The drive was quiet, but not uncomfortable. She felt like her skin was still buzzing from the way he’d looked at her when he was talking, like she was something precious, not temporary. That was all she wanted, really. To be taken seriously.

When he pulled into his driveway and turned off the engine, neither of them moved for a second. He just looked at her, his big hand resting on the gearshift like he was still debating whether to say more but he didn't. He climbed out and came around to open her door (always the gentleman), and when she stepped out, he caught her chin in his hand, tilting her face up to his.

“You believe me?” he asked, voice low.

She swallowed. “I do.”

His mouth twitched. “Okay. Good. We've still got more to talk about.”

Inside, the house was dim and quiet. He flicked on the light over the kitchen and set his keys down. She hovered awkwardly by the counter, suddenly unsure what came next after her silly tantrum. Well, it wasn't really a tantrum, more like a moment of uncertainty and wavering confidence in what they were doing. What they were.

Harry turned to her, and for the first time all night, he looked uncertain too. Like he wasn’t sure if touching her would be the right thing. She hated that she'd made it weird.

“You want a drink?” he asked.

“No,” she said softly. “I just… I think I need you to tell me what this is.”

He stepped closer. “What do you want it to be?”

She hesitated, searching his face as she shook her head. “I'm starting to have real feelings for you, Harry. I need to know we're on the same page. I want it to be something real.”

“It already is.”

Her breath came out in a wisp, and she opened her mouth to argue… she didn’t know why, maybe just out of stubborn habit, but he shook his head and cupped her jaw gently in his hand to keep her focus on him.

“I’m serious,” he said. “This isn’t casual for me. It hasn’t been for a while. I've got real feelings for you too, Y/n.”

She blinked, her heart fluttering so fast it almost made her lightheaded. “So what are you saying?”

He exhaled a slow, steadying breath, like he was working up to something.

“I’m saying…” he said, pausing as he took her hand and jutted his head toward the living room. "Let's go sit down."

She followed him to the couch, and just when she thought they'd both sit, he pulled her with him, dragging her into his lap and shifting them both until they were sitting together, looking at one another. He put an arm around her, his other hand on the top of her thigh.

“I've been thinking about it a lot, and I want you to be my girlfriend. If you want that too. Feels right to me.”

For a second, she couldn’t find her voice. All she could do was stare at him, her pulse thumping wildly in her ears. She gripped the side of his sweater in her fist and when she finally managed a breath, it came out thin. “Yes. I want that.”

His hand slid to the back of her neck, and he kissed her before she could say anything else. It was different from the other times. Like he was sealing something between them. Like a handshake but far sweeter.

She slid her hands up to the front of his chest, and when he pulled back, she was smiling so wide it almost hurt.

“You look happy,” he said quietly, thumb brushing over her cheek.

“I am,” she whispered.

“Good. That's what I want to see.”

He kissed her again, slow and sultry, his tongue sliding against hers, and she felt her body soften against his as all the tension she’d been carrying seemed to melt away.

When he finally pulled back, he moved his lips up to kiss her forehead. “Come on,” he said. “Need to make sure you understand how serious I am."

He didn’t rush her. Just led her down the hall with one big reassuring hand at the small of her back. When they reached the bedroom, he turned on the lamp on the dresser to fill the space with warm, honey-colored light. Then he faced her, quiet, searching her eyes as if he was giving her one last chance to change her mind.

She didn’t. She wouldn't. Harry was the man of her dreams, and if he was serious about all this… if he really wanted them to take their relationship to the next step, she was all in.

She stepped close and pressed her palms to his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart under her hands. God, he was gorgeous and so nice. She didn't know why she ever had second thoughts about his intentions.

“You’re sure you want me as your girlfriend?” she whispered, a cheeky soft smile working its way up on her mouth. Despite her grin, her question was serious.

His lips curved, soft and reassuring. “I’ve never been more sure about anything.”

His hands came up to cup her face, and he kissed her again. Long, unhurried, like he had all night to convince her she was all he wanted. She felt her body melt into his, her breath catching as he slid his hands down her sides, thumbs brushing over her hips.

When he pulled back, he started working the buttons on her coat that she'd yet to remove. It was slow and methodical, like every layer he plucked at was something he’d been waiting to see. A pleasure to shed each layer with the utmost care.

“You’re beautiful,” he said in a whisper, sliding the coat from her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. “So fucking beautiful. And so smart. So good for me.”

Her hands fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, but he didn’t laugh or tease her, just helped her, undoing each one until she could push it over his broad shoulders. She smoothed her palms over the warm skin of his chest, feeling the way his breath caught when she touched him.

“You make me feel like…” She trailed off, a flush of embarrassment washing over her at the vulnerability of the moment.

“Like what?” he asked softly.

“Like maybe this is real.”

He bent to kiss her jaw, his voice low and rough. “It is real, baby.”

His fingers slipped under the hem of her top, before he pulled it over her head. She shivered nervously, and at the cool air as it touched her skin, but he was already smoothing his palms up her arms, steadying her.

He kissed her again, deeply, ravaging, and her knees went weak at the slow slide of his mouth against hers. When she whimpered, he groaned and pressed her back toward the bed.

“Lie down,” he murmured against her lips.

She sat and then lowered down, her breath coming in soft little gasps as he followed her onto the mattress, bracing himself over her on his forearms. His eyes roved over her face as his chest rose and fell heavy.

“So pretty,” he said.

She puffed out a bashful laugh.

He kissed her throat, her collarbone, the tops of her breasts, taking his time, not hurrying to get her naked all at once. His big hand slid up to cup her cheek, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth.

“I want you to know how serious I am about you. Want you to feel it,” he said against her skin.

“You already showed me,” she breathed.

“Not enough.”

He kissed his way down her belly, pausing at the waistband of her skirt, and looked up at her. She watched him move his hands up her thighs, pushing the material up over her hips, revealing her thin underwear. He pressed kisses to every inch of skin he uncovered.

When he settled between her thighs, she gasped, one hand flying to his hair.

“Harry—”

“Shh.” His voice was husky. “Just let me take care of you.”

His mouth found her through her panties, warm and unhurried, his tongue stroking over the damp fabric until she was trembling. He moaned into the soaked cloth and lifted to look up at her.

She clocked that cocky grin on his face as she hooked his thumbs under the elastic of her waistband. "Love getting you messy."

Biting her lip, she watched as he pulled her skirt off and then finally removed her thong, dragging it down her legs slowly. He took his time, kissing the soft skin of her inner thighs, breathing her in like he couldn’t get enough.

He started easy and slow, flicking his tongue over her clit in steady, teasing strokes. When she whimpered, he slipped two fingers inside her, curling them just right until her hips were lifting up off the mattress.

If there were things about Harry that she could brag on (there were many), one of them was that his cunnilingus game was on point. She'd never slept with anyone as good as him in general, but the way he could make her come with his mouth?

“Look at me,” he rasped.

She forced her eyes open, and the moment their gazes locked, the heat that had been building finally broke as he sucked her clit into his mouth and dragged his fingertips into that gooey, mushy spot inside of her that made her brain melt. She came with a soft, broken cry, her body shaking under his mouth.

He didn’t stop until she was squirming, fingers pumping, tongue swirling, and she was too sensitive to take any more. Only then did he kiss his way back up her body, his lips soft and warm against her skin.

She caught his face in her hands when he reached her, kissing him hard, tasting herself on his tongue. Her heart was pounding wildly from everything. Not just the orgasm, but also because of the talk they'd had. They were official. They were real. This was real.

“Need you,” she whispered. “Please.”

His breath shuddered out. “Yeah?

She nodded quickly and watched him as he shifted, removing his pants and then his underwear. He reached over to grab a condom from his nightstand. She sat up and helped him roll it on, her hands shaking with urgency to feel him inside of her.

He grinned at how excited she seemed to be. Yanking her thighs and pulling her against him, he leaned over her and kissed her slowly, only to feel her writhing under him impatiently.

He laughed. "What's the rush? I just made you come and you're already acting like you haven't even been touched?"

She rolled her eyes and lifted her hips. "You're my boyfriend now. Want to feel what it's like to have my boyfriend fucking me."

He moaned, hands dragging down her arms and then over her breasts before he pushed her thighs further apart. He tilted his gaze down between her legs, where his cock was hanging just over her. She felt him slide his thumbs down to her slick labia and then he pulled, opening up her hole to get a good view of where he was about to be buried.

"You drive a hard bargain, honey. You sure you're ready to feel it?" He grinned, eyes moving up over her body, scraping over the tops of her tits and up to her face.

She nodded. "Yes. Right there where your fingers are. Push your big cock in there, Harry."

Y/n was vibrating with need as he massaged just around her entrance, his fingers sliding around her pussylips slowly and pulling them apart again before he finally lined himself up with her.

With his thumb gliding over the pulsing hood of her clit he pressed his tip just past her tight muscle, and she inhaled sharply at the stretch (she always had to brace herself for that initial plunge). Harry cooed softly, halting his thrusts as he rubbed circles into her, watching her pretty bud shift under his thumb and the way her wet pussy was wrapped just around his tip.

When he was satisfied that she was ready for more, he shifted into her again, pressing more of his impressive girth deeper, spreading her open slowly.

"My girlfriend…" he said in a voice that couldn't even be considered a whisper. She almost didn't hear it. Y/n reached out to take his free hand, moving his grip from her thigh to thread their fingers together.

"Yes, your girlfriend."

With their eyes fixed, he buried in until his pelvis was pressed into her clit. Both of them reeling from the intimacy of it. And somehow, it felt different. It wasn't just sex. It was something bigger than just sex.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, her free hand bracing his shoulder. He stayed still for a moment, just watching her face.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she breathed. “So good.”

He groaned and began to move, slow and deep, every thrust measured. It felt so good every time they fucked, but this time was even better. Her insides ached around his cock as he dragged in and out languidly. She felt like he was trying to prove something with every careful slide of his body against hers.

And maybe he was. Maybe he wanted her to understand just how much she meant to him. How committed he was to her and only her. He'd do anything it took to get her to see she wasn't just some phase, some easy girl he could control… It was never that with him.

He rocked into her, lowering his chest enough that she could feel the sweep of his chest hair over her nipples. His lips brushed over hers as he panted. "Y'my girl, Y/n… Gonna make sure you know I mean it."

She moaned, sliding her fingers up against the back of his neck to pull his mouth down against hers. He flexed his fingers against hers, their hands still grasped together as he fucked in deep.

The sound of his length gliding through her was wet and filthy, lined by their moans and the soft plapping of skin together. Her body wrapped around him, little muscles flexing over his cock as he stuffed into her, lips and tongues moving together… it was all bringing them both to their end rapidly.

He felt her tensing under him. Pushing in as deep as he could go, until her body was shuddering and she was gasping, he ground into her when she came. The pulsing of her walls on him had him sucking in a sharp breath and pressing his forehead to hers when her lips were no longer moving with his. Her soft gasps mingled with his low groans, and then it was his turn.

His movements were harsher, faster, as he fucked in. Sweat formed over his chest as he braced himself for his orgasm. He drove into her, hips pumping until finally he was coming, buried in tight and throbbing as he filled his condom.

"Fuck…"

After, he didn’t pull away. Just stayed close, kissing her cheeks and her mouth, his hand stroking her temple until her breathing slowed and she finally opened her eyes. He was smiling down at her. A soft expression, gentle, full of feeling and warmth

“Told you I was serious,” he said.

She smiled, her heart thudding. “I believe you.”

.

The morning sun spilled across the kitchen floor, catching on the steam curling up from her mug. Y/n tugged the hem of Harry’s soft old t-shirt lower over her bare thighs and shifted on her stool, trying not to grin like an idiot but failing miserably.

It was hard not to with him standing across the counter in just a pair of sweats, hair still messy from her fingers not long before.

He poured more coffee into her mug, even though she hadn’t finished the first. “What're you smiling about?” His grin gave away that he already knew.

She shrugged, wrapping her palms around the warm ceramic. “You.”

“Oh yeah? Like that I make you smile so big.” He reached over and tugged gently at the sleeve of her borrowed shirt. “This looks better on you.”

“Better than on you?” she teased.

He leaned over the counter, close enough that she could smell the faint clean musk of his skin. “Much better,” he said, voice low.

He sank over her skin. She was about to say something stupid, something mushy she’d definitely regret admitting out loud, when the doorbell rang.

Harry straightened, brows pulling together in confusion.

“Expecting someone?”

“No.” He glanced toward the hall, then back at her. “I'll find out who it is. Be right back.”

Her pulse ticked up as he walked to the front door. She couldn’t hear what was being said at first, just the low rumble of his voice. Then another voice, higher in pitch, a little sharp, feminine: “—and I just thought I’d drop by since you didn’t answer your phone.”

Y/n’s heart thumped harder. She knew without even seeing who it was. And god, she wasn't ready for this yet. She took another sip of her coffee, ears straining to listen as she moved from the stool and stepped toward the living room mindlessly.

Harry’s reply was quiet, but it didn’t hide the tension. “All right. Everything okay?”

“No. I wanted to talk about Riley. And about next weekend. But—”

The woman’s voice cut off, and Y/n realized too late that she’d stepped halfway into view, mug clutched to her chest like a shield.

Harry’s ex was tall, polished, her hair perfectly done, even this early. She turned her eyes on Y/n and took her in with one slow, measured glance.

“Oh.” Her mouth curved, though it wasn’t exactly a smile. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you had company.”

Y/n swallowed, acutely aware she wasn’t wearing pants. “Hi,” she managed, her voice embarrassingly small.

Harry’s hand lifted, almost like he was going to reach toward her, but he stopped himself. “This is Y/n. Y/n, this is Colette… the kids' mom.”

“Y/n,” his ex repeated, lips pressing together. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Y/n echoed, trying to ignore the heat climbing her cheeks.

The silence stretched between the three of them, brittle and awkward. She was kicking herself for having stepped toward the living room. She should have just stayed put, but what was done was done, and now she was staring at the woman Harry had once been married to. The mother of his kids.

His ex shifted her gaze back to Harry. “Anyway,” she said briskly, “I wanted to go over Riley’s behavior. Her teacher has said she’s been acting out again, and I don’t want it escalating before next weekend when you get them.”

“Of course,” Harry said, his jaw flexing. “Let’s—”

His ex lifted a brow, flicking her eyes pointedly to Y/n. “Maybe we can talk privately?”

Y/n’s face went hot. “I’ll, um… just—” She gestured vaguely toward the hallway and retreated before she could finish the rest of her sentence.

In the bedroom, she set her mug down on the dresser. God, she felt stupid. She was an intruder in someone else’s life… someone with kids, an ex, responsibilities she couldn’t even begin to understand.

She perched on the edge of the bed, fingers knotting in the hem of the t-shirt, and tried to breathe, to calm herself a little. This was part of the deal; she'd have to get used to the occasional run-in with his ex. She just hadn't been prepared for it.

It felt like forever before the front door finally shut again and Harry's footsteps padded down the hallway. When he stepped into the bedroom, he didn’t look annoyed. He looked tired, but the second his eyes landed on her, something in his expression softened.

“Hey,” he murmured, crossing the room.

“Sorry,” she blurted, before she could stop herself. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Or interrupt. Or—”

“Stop.” He crouched in front of her, big hands bracketing her knees. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Her eyes darted to the door, then back to him. “She hates me.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “She doesn’t even know you.”

“She hates that I’m here,” she insisted, voice cracking as she looked down at the lack of clothing she had on. “That I’m… like this. Prancing around in your t-shirt while she's—”

His thumbs brushed slowly over her thighs. “She can think whatever she wants.”

“She’s the mother of your kids, Harry. I want to make a good impression. I think I just blew it.”

“You're overthinking it. And you’re my girlfriend.” His voice was steady. “You have every right to be here. She'll get used to seeing you around.”

She swallowed. “I just don’t want to make everything harder.”

His hands slid up to her hips, pulling her closer so he could press his forehead to her sternum. “You’re not. You’re not making anything harder. You make everything better, in fact. Don't stress about this, baby.”

She let her fingers drift into his hair, holding him there. “Okay. Promise?”

He tipped his head back, looking up at her. “I promise. I wouldn’t have asked you to be mine if I weren't ready for all of this.”

Her chest squeezed so tight she thought it might break her ribs. “Okay,” she whispered.

He kissed the underside of her jaw. “You’re staying,” he said simply. “I want you here. Next time, I promise I'll introduce you properly. Was just caught off guard by her showing up like that."

She nodded. "Yeah. Hopefully next time we get a heads up so I can get dressed and make myself look presentable."

He laughed. "You're perfectly presentable just like this."

"I'm not. But thank you." She grinned.

"You good? I don't want you getting in your head about this. There's nothing to worry about."

"I know. You're right. I'm good, Harry."

He smiled, that slow, easy grin she was already addicted to. “Good.”

. .

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