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"What would you call it?" I ask, leaning slightly closer.

"A disaster," she says, "A complete and utter disaster."

"That seems fair." I reach out again, and this time I let my fingers brush against hers where they rest on the bed. "For what it's worth, I never meant to hurt you."

"I know." She doesn't pull her hand away. "You're many things, Evan Blackthorn, but you're not cruel. Not deliberately."

"I'm just thoughtless? Selfish? Arrogant?" I supply.

"All of the above." Now she's smiling, though tears still glisten in her eyes. "With a side of insufferable."

"You forgot devastatingly handsome," I add, trying to keep her smiling.

She rolls her eyes. "And modest too."

"Modesty is overrated." I move my thumb across her knuckles in a gentle caress. "Especially when one has so much to be immodest about."

"You're impossible." She laughs again, wiping at her tears with her free hand.

"Yet here you are," I point out, "not kicking me out of your room."

"A lapse in judgment, clearly."

"Or excellent judgment." I smile. "Depending on your perspective."

She studies me, her expression softening. "Why do you make it so hard to stay angry at you?"

"Maybe it's my natural charm?"

"Try again."

"Years of practice deflecting with humor and good looks?"

"Getting warmer." She turns her hand over, her palm now against mine.

My heart beats faster at the small gesture. "Dahlia..."

"What?" Her voice drops lower.

"I don't deserve your forgiveness," I say honestly.

"No, you don't." She intertwines her fingers with mine. "But maybe that's not what this is about."

"What is it about, then?"

"Moving forward." She meets my eyes. "And finding a way through this mess together."

I look down at our joined hands. "I'd like that."

"Me too," she whispers.

The air between us shifts, charges with something electric and inevitable. I lift my gaze to find her watching me, her eyes dark in the dim light.

"Evan?" Her voice is barely audible.

"Yes?"

"Kiss me."