The next fifteen minutes were a frenzy of Amelia trying to make her living room look presentable before Henry arrived—it was just her luck that this was the one weekend she'd decided to let her apartment get uncharacteristically sloppy. And two of those precious minutes were wasted just rummaging through her kitchen drawers for a box of matches so that she could light a candle to compensate for the fact that she'd just left a smelly Taco Bell wrapper on the floor for two days.

Just as she'd struck the match and the wrapper had met its fate in the trash can, the doorbell rang. Amelia looked down at herself; she hadn't gotten around to changing, so she supposed Henry would just have to deal with her pajama shorts and baggy tee shirt. She tugged down the legs of her shorts as she went to answer the door.

When she pulled it open, she was greeted by a gust of chilly autumn air (her bare legs were not a fan) and Henry, wearing a sweater that made him look very handsome in an adorable sort of way. But the faint hue of pink on his cheeks reminded her of why he was actually here and it only now dawned on her that she didn't know how to react.

"I didn't have time to fix my face," she said stupidly, very aware that she didn't have any makeup on right now and thus might have looked like an egg. At least she'd moisturized.

He smiled just slightly. "I don't think there's anything wrong with your face."

"Right. Um, come on in." She stepped aside to let him in and shut out the cold. "Do you want anything to drink, or like a snack, or..."

"I'm fine, thanks."

She watched as he sat down on the couch, his palms resting flat on his legs like he wasn't sure what to do with his body. She couldn't decide if knowing that he was also nervous made this easier or more difficult.

But she eased herself onto the couch beside him, leaving a somewhat generous amount of space between the two of them. It was as though her subconscious was treating this push and pull between them as a third entity entirely, one that she needed to physically make space for until it was resolved one way or another. She'd been completely coherent—or at least coherent enough—on the phone, but now that he was actually here in the flesh, close enough in proximity to her that she could smell the clean scent that lingered on his clothes and watch the little dimples on his cheeks when he talked, she felt incapable of forming any sentences that were both logical and un-embarrassing.

She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. "How about we just, like, take turns saying how we feel about what happened last night?"

His lips curved back into another small smile. "That sounds reasonable. Should, um, should I go first? Or did you want to?"

"You can go."

"Alright, well..." Henry seemed a little bit conflicted about if he should look at her or at the floor. "I really like you, Amelia, and um, that was really nice and everything. I enjoyed kissing you."

She almost felt guilty for thinking that it was just the teeniest, tiniest bit satisfying for him to start getting tongue-tied over kissing her when he was usually the more eloquent of the two of them. The planes of his cheekbones flushed more brightly when a giggle slipped out of her mouth.

"I sound ridiculous, don't I?" he asked sheepishly.

"No, I think it's sweet," she assured him. "But I sense there's a but coming."

Henry didn't deny it; he shrugged. But he kept his eyes on her this time. "I guess it felt like, I don't know, like I might be taking advantage of your emotions while you're vulnerable."

"I could say the same thing to you."

He nodded. "That's fair. But I'm not—I don't feel vulnerable in the same sense, you know? I mean, I didn't just get out of a relationship with someone else. I wished I'd just stayed and asked you how you felt instead of giving you the wrong idea though."

After a short pause, he added, "Your turn."

"Okay...well, I also enjoyed kissing you," she admitted, and doing it out loud made her insides feel all fluttery even though he'd already made the same confession himself.

"Glad to hear it," he smiled.

But Amelia glanced away, staring at the pale circles of her knees instead. "I guess a part of me does feel weird for...for wanting someone else so soon."

"You want me?" he repeated, and she didn't have to look at him to know he was smirking. Probably in an endearing way that would make her want to wipe it off his lips by kissing them again.

"Don't let it get to your head."

"Sorry. Continue."

"I think, um, maybe I can clear up a little bit for you about–" The word Colton seemed to get stuck on her tongue. "–About my last relationship. I put up with some not-great stuff for a long time, but the problem wasn't that I couldn't make my own choices. It was that he never liked them."

She turned her chin back to him and noticed that somewhere along the way he'd rested his arm on the back of the couch, yet she made the observation that it didn't entirely seem like he intended to touch her, either—at least not without her permission. It was like he'd slung his arm around that invisible tension sitting between them, physically opening himself up to her more but putting the decision of what to do with that into her hands.

She was pretty sure she knew what she wanted to do with it.

Henry's expression was softened, subtly cautious. "What do you think that means for you and me, then?"

"It means," she explained quietly. "That if I kiss you, it's because I really want to kiss you. It's not about anything else."

A small breath slid out between his lips as Amelia pulled her legs up onto the sofa and propped herself up on her knees, using them to keep herself steady as she leaned in and rested her forehead against his. He barely moved a muscle as she closed her eyes and let one of her hands trail along his shoulder and then slowly wander into his hair, determined to soak in every sensation before she kissed him. Now that it had already happened once, she saw no need in rushing it so much that she didn't even get to notice what she was experiencing. It was only once she'd pressed his mouth against his that he moved to embrace her; his hands, slightly shaky, steadied her at the waist.

The way Henry kissed her was full of paradoxes. Gentle but eager. Careful, but not behaving like she was a fragile little thing that might break if they felt their feelings for each other too strongly. He was trying to honor the fact that she was in the process of moving on from someone else, and yet it was in his kisses that she found the most reprieve from any thought of Colton at all.

Henry wasn't volatile; he wasn't a ticking time bomb. He was making her feel safe, and it was within the cocoon of that safety that Amelia started to feel more alive than she ever had before. This was what made her blood rush through her veins so fast that she felt a little dizzy, what propelled her furthest into a state of bliss.

She didn't want thrills or adventures anymore. She just wanted to feel like she was being taken care of.

She buried her face against his shoulder, her arms hugging his torso. Breathlessly, she mumbled, "I was scared I was gonna lose you."

"It'll take a lot more than that to scare me away," he murmured back.

Amelia tilted her chin up to him. "Where do we stand, then?"

A delicate hand brushed her hair behind her ear; she fought the urge to let her eyes flutter shut when he touched her.

"We can be whatever we want to be, really. But I want to respect whatever you're ready for right now."

"That might be one of the most attractive things a man has ever said to me."

Henry allowed his eyebrows to quirk up, evidently confused. "I regret to inform you that you might have been setting the bar a little low," he said gravely.

She held back the snorting sound that wanted to come out of her mouth. "Way low, I know."

He looked relieved that she had that self-awareness. "Why don't you tell me how you want this to go?" he offered.

Her fingers were toying with the soft fabric of his sweater; she forced herself to stop before she accidentally tugged on it and messed with its shape.

"For both our sakes, I think it'd be good to take things slow," she said. "I don't—I think it could become overwhelming for me mentally if I started to feel like things were happening too fast. But um, it could be fun to maybe..."

Her gaze drifted up to his, hopeful. "...Go on a date sometime? If that's a thing you're interested in."

Henry appeared to be trying not to grin too much, but his voice was tender as always. "That's a thing I'm interested in. I'll come up with something nice."

"Oh, please don't think it has to be something fancy–"

"It doesn't have to be fancy, but I think we've both earned a bit of a break, don't you?"

"You're right," she agreed after a moment. "...We deserve this."

And wasn't it true? Amelia rarely felt like she had done anything to warrant happiness, but didn't everyone have the right to that? Was happiness something that had to be forever forfeited just because you screwed up a few times? No. It wasn't. And even if she didn't always apply that mindset to herself, she was damn sure that Henry Caruso deserved all of the happiness in the world.

And if by some miracle she was what made him happy...

She reached for his hand and intertwined it with her own, his palm resting comfortably against hers, as if she and Henry had already been molding to the shape of each other since the moment they met.

"Amelia?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you promise me something?"

She wasn't entirely fluent in reading his expressions yet. "That depends on what you're asking me to promise."

"Will you tell me if...if I ever stop making you happy?" he asked gently.

She nodded. "Will you tell me?"

He nodded, and this transparency between them was so refreshing to her that she couldn't help but kiss him one more time.

"...I should really get going," he sighed reluctantly against her mouth after savoring it for a moment.

Amelia drew back. "Right, of course. It's late. Thanks for coming over."

"Thanks for letting me come over after I was kind of an asshole."

"It takes a lot more than that to drive me away," she murmured, and he was grinning as she slowly got up from the couch to walk him to the door.

Henry stuffed his hands in his pockets, lingering in the doorway. She didn't care anymore about letting the cold air in—she wanted him to stay as long as he possibly could.

"Are you doing anything Friday?"

"I can put you on my calendar," she smiled. "If that's what you're asking."

"That is what I'm asking." He leaned in and gingerly pressed a kiss onto her cheek, his breath warm on her skin as he whispered, "Goodnight, Amelia."

And though the air had been yanked out of her lungs, she managed to gingerly whisper back a goodnight before he turned to leave. She watched his retreating silhouette until he was back to his car, only then shutting the door.

In bed, she lifted her hand to the spot on her cheek where he'd just kissed her, her fingertips tracing along her own skin as she replayed the night in her head over and over again. As she gradually slid off into sleep, it was impossible to distinguish where real life ended and dreams began. For once, they finally felt like one and the same.