Page 40 of Duty Compromised

“Beautiful,” I said simply. “You looked beautiful. Still do.”

The word landed between us like a stone in still water, ripples spreading outward. Charlotte’s eyes widened, her fork frozen halfway to her mouth.

“I—” She set the fork down carefully, precisely. “You can’t say things like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t know what to do with them.” The honesty in her voice was devastating. “I don’t understand this.”

I stood, moving around the island until I was beside her stool. Not crowding, just…closer. “What’s to understand?”

“Everything. The variables, the parameters, the expected outcomes?—”

“Charlotte.” I waited until she looked at me. “Not everything is an equation.”

“Everything is a mathematical operation of some sort. It’s just that some are too complex to solve.”

I reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She didn’t pull away. “Maybe you’re overthinking it.”

“I overthink everything. It’s literally how my brain works.”

“Then stop thinking.”

She laughed, short and sharp. “Easy for you to say. You can just…be. I analyze every interaction, every word, every possible interpretation?—”

I kissed her.

It wasn’t planned, wasn’t strategic. One moment, she was spiraling into analysis paralysis, the next, my mouth was on hers, cutting off whatever complex theorem she was about to expound.

For a heartbeat, she froze. Then she made a small sound—surprise, maybe, or relief—and melted into it. Her hands came up to rest against my chest, not pushing away but just…touching. Like she needed to confirm I was real.

The kiss was softer than I’d expected, sweeter. She tasted like tomato sauce and whatever lip balm she’d been using. When I pulled back, her eyes were still closed, lips slightly parted.

“Oh,” she breathed.

“Yeah.”

She opened her eyes, and for once, that constantly calculating mind seemed to have gone quiet. “That was…”

“Not an equation?”

“Definitely not an equation.” She touched her lips with her fingertips, wonder in her expression. “Do it again.”

I chuckled but did as she asked. This time, she was ready for it, meeting me halfway. Her hands slid up to my shoulders, fingers curling into my shirt. The kiss deepened, became something more urgent, more real. All the tension of the past few days, the fear from the accident, the constant push and pull between us—it all dissolved into this moment.

When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard. Charlotte’s blanket had slipped, and her face was a pretty shade of pink.

“I should—” I stepped back, remembering reality. She was banged-up, exhausted, running on fumes. “You need rest.”

“Right.” She nodded, looking dazed. “Rest. That’s…logical.”

We cleaned the dishes together, orbiting carefully like two magnets that couldn’t decide whether to attract or repel. Every brush of her hand against mine lit me up, but I kept it light. She needed space to heal, not me losing my damn head.

“I should go,” I said once the kitchen was clean.

“No.” The word came out fast, urgent. She flushed. “I mean… I’m nervous. About being alone. After everything.”

“Charlotte—”