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luca

“ I ’m not going anywhere.”

The second the words leave my mouth, I know I’ve crossed the line from casual flirtation to full-on feelings territory.

There is no snatching them out of the air.

No take-backs.

Which, yeah. Terrifying.

But so what?

Nova doesn’t respond right away. She gazes at me, eyes wide— guarded—like I’ve reached across the table and handed her something too fragile, too real.

Like I’ve offered her something she doesn’t know how to hold.

And I get it.

I do.

She’s careful. Not cold, not indifferent—but careful. She's been through enough to know that letting people in comes with risk and sometimes people leave, through no fault of their own. I’ve heard about her failed relationships through team gossip.

I know that somewhere along the line, she decided it was safer to stay behind the high walls she’s built over time than gamble on someone new. Trust takes time.

And effort.

I’m not going anywhere .

And I don’t regret saying the words. Not even a little.

Because I meant it.

Every word.

I think about her more than I should. Wondering if she wants kids. Wondering if she likes to travel. Her favorite books and movies. Whether she cries during sad songs or keeps her emotions folded up tight, even in private. What her love languages are.

I notice the way she pretends she’s immune to our connection. I notice the way she looks at our dumb giraffe cup like it’s a stand-in for all the things she’s afraid to want—joy, nostalgia, comfort.

Beneath all the armor and eye rolls, Nova wants to be chosen.

Not just seen.

Chosen.

I clear my throat. “Sorry. Was that too real for you?”

I can match her joke for joke, sarcasm for sarcasm. I’ve done it before. I know the rhythm of her deflections like the back of my hand.

But probably not for long.

Because pretending only works until it starts to hurt.

The truth is, though, there’s only so much I’m willing to hear before I reach my limit.

If she genuinely wants me to leave her alone—to back off, delete her number, erase the idea of her from every little space she’s taken up in my life—I will.

As I study her face, the tension in her jaw changes along with a flicker of hesitation in her eyes, the way she keeps shifting like she’s trying to outrun the weight of the moment.

So I lay it out there; ask her straight: “Nova, what do you actually want from me? ”

She blinks, caught off guard.

“I’m serious,” I say. “No sarcasm. No dodging the question. Just tell me the truth. What do you want from this? From me ?”

She stares into my face.

“I don’t know,” she says honestly. “That’s part of my problem.”

“Then tell me what you do know.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then she lets out a breath, shaky but real.

“I know I like being around you. I know I find you attractive. I know this is risky and complicated and messy—but it doesn’t feel wrong.”

Because it’s not.

Nova is not afraid of me . She’s afraid of what it could mean to want something for herself. Afraid of screwing things up. Of Gio finding out.

She’s projecting her brother’s bullshit behavior onto me. He casts a long shadow—one she’s been living under it for a long time.

Makes me sad, kind of.

“Can we take your brother out of the equation for a minute?”

Her eyes snap up, wary. But she doesn’t pull away.

“I mean it,” I say. “Not because he doesn’t matter. I know he does. But this thing—whatever it is, whatever it could be—shouldn’t be about him.”

She swallows. Hard.

“This is about you and me ,” I continue. “And whether or not we want to try. Not Gio. Not his approval. You’re an adult woman who can make her own decisions.”

Easier said than done.

I realize that.

But still, I had to say it.

Nova doesn’t respond right away; I can see the battle going on in her head as she marinates on my words.

“What’s it going to take to get you to date me? ”

Her eyes flick to mine, wide.

“I’m serious,” I say. “Just sex? A secret relationship? Me pretending I don’t care?” I lower my voice as the server sets down our appetizer then moves away. “I want the real thing. But I need to know— do you? ”

Her nod—if you can call it that—is slow. Still, it’s there.

“Yes.”

It’s quiet. Barely audible.

It hits me like a punch to the ribs—because she means it. She’s scared out of her mind, but she’s saying yes.

I don’t push.

I don’t press for more detail.

“Would you be more comfortable if we established some… rules?”

Nova blinks back her confusion. “Rules?”

“Yeah,” I say with a small smile. “You know, boundaries. Terms. A dating clause.”

Her lips twitch. “Like a relationship contract?”

“Exactly.” I pause. “Clause one: no public declarations of love until at least date three.”

She rolls her eyes, but I catch the flicker of relief behind it caused by my teasing. “Clause two: no posting our giraffe cup baby on social media without the other’s consent.”

“Clause three,” I add. “You’re allowed to panic, but you’re not allowed to disappear.”

That quiets her. “These aren’t actual rules.”

Oh Nova—that’s where you’re wrong.

“They’re absolutely real,” I say, dropping my voice just enough that it vibrates with intent. “Binding agreement. No takesies-backsies. I’ll even put it all in writing if it helps your type-A heart sleep at night.”

Her mouth twitches like she’s trying not to smile. “What about clause four?”

“That depends,” I say, leaning in. “Is that the clause where you admit you lay awake thinking about me, or the one where you kiss me across this table before this date is over?”

“Stop,” she says with a smile on her face. “Clause four: we don’t tell my brother. Not yet. If this goes up in flames, I don’t need him throwing gasoline on the fire before it has a chance to start.”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “I wouldn’t dare tell your brother until you were ready.”

That giant fucking cockblock.

“Clause five,” she goes on. “No kissing until at least the fourth date.”

Say what now?

“Then I’d like to formally schedule the fourth date,” I reply. “It is immediately following this appetizer.”

Nova snorts, and God help me, even that’s sexy. “You can’t just stack dates.”

“Says who?” I say, counting with my fingers. “This is date two. Dessert is date three. The awkward walk to the car is four. You let me open your door without mocking my chivalry, boom—make out sesh.”

“That's cheating.”

Eh.

Debatable.

“You’re smiling, ” I point out. “You’re doing that thing where you try to pretend I’m not winning this argument, but your face is betraying you.”

She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Clause six: no keeping score.”

“How many clauses are we going to have? I can count, but I can only go as high as ten.”

Nova laughs, her chest rising with the kind of full-body shake that’s impossible to ignore. And forgive me, but I’m human. My eyes stray downward—briefly, respectfully—to admire the absolute masterpiece that is her cleavage.

I snap my gaze back up just in time to see her smirking .

Busted.

“You done?” she asks, one brow arched.

I have two options: lie, or double down.

“Nope,” I say, looking some more.

She snorts. “Clause seven: no ogling the merchandise unless given explicit verbal permission.”

I lean forward, dropping my voice low. “Would you like to go on record? Because that is a terrible clause. That clause is weak. That clause will not hold up in court.”

“Too bad,” she says, standing up, that teasing edge never leaving her voice. “I’m a lawyer now.”

The server returns and we order dinner; a dish to share since neither of us is hungry but also: we’ve already determined we want dessert.

“So,” she says, casually twirling her fork like she’s not wrecking my sanity. “When is date two?”

“Date three, you mean?” I am so amused. “Are you asking because you can’t wait to see me again, or because you’re trying to fast-track to clause five?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she says sweetly.

“Okay,” I say slowly. “Next date has to be something stealthy. Nothing public—like a secluded cabin in the woods.”

“A little too Dateline .” She laughs again. “Not that I don’t trust you not to murder me, but I’d rather not take chances…”

Valid.

“Hmm...” I pretend to think. “What about something that sounds innocent on paper but gives us plausible deniability?”

“Like what?”

“Grocery shopping,” I say as if I have it all figured out. “We meet in the produce section. You pretend to teach me how to pick out a ripe avocado. I flirt with you over bananas. Boom—date three.”

Her head is bobbing up and down as if she doesn’t hate the idea. “Not a horrible idea. Also, not the best.”

I shrug. “Just trying to be creative.” I pause .

Her laugh bubbles out, the kind that makes her lean back in her chair and throw her head slightly. It’s completely unguarded, and I feel it punch me right in the chest.

God, I like her.

“Hey, Nova?”

“Hmm?”

“Clause eight: no falling in love with me before date five.”

She freezes for a split second. It’s subtle, but I catch it. Her fingers pause on her glass, the smile faltering for half a beat before she recovers.

“You think highly of yourself,” she says lightly.

I shrug. “I’ve got charm, killer instincts, and a jungle baby cup with giraffe ears. Irresistible combo.”

She snorts. “Let’s not forget your humble nature.”

Humble.

I am, actually, but she’ll learn that in time.

“No worries. I won’t fall in love with you by date five.” Nova plucks at the calamari in the center of the table and dips it in sauce. “And can we not do anymore rules? I’m losing track.”

“So I’m not allowed to add one more?”

Her brows raise as she chews. Licks her fingers. “Depends on what it is.”

“Clause nine: I want you to break every rule, but I want you to do it slowly.”