He didn’t say a word when we pulled into the driveway.
And neither did I.
It was better that way—pretending the air between us wasn’t heavy with words we weren’t ready to speak, pretending I hadn’t almost let myself fall headfirst into a kiss that would’ve ruined everything.
He cut the engine. The silence didn’t move.
I reached for the door handle just as Dario said, “Wait.”
I stilled.
He looked at me. Not casual. Not cold. Just… direct.
“We’re going to talk.”
I scoffed. “You’re not my therapist.”
“Good. Because I’d be a terrible one.” He pushed open his door and got out. “But we’re talking. Now.”
I followed him inside because the alternative was sitting in his car all night pretending I wasn’t still buzzing from how close his mouth had been to mine.
The door shut behind me with
