Finding Birch Street

Chapter 2

Eight o’clock turned into the standard by which Leah measured the rest of her week.

When Romano picked her up, he didn’t just take her out; he swept her into a version of the city she hadn’t known existed. He knew the owners of late-night speakeasies who unlocked side doors just for them, the quietest overlooks high in the hills where the city lights looked like scattered embers, and the exact right moment to take her hand.

It was a whirlwind in every sense of the word. Romano moved through life with a magnetic, relentless momentum. He bought her bouquets of dark red peonies for no reason, left handwritten notes on her windshield while she was on her lunch break, and showed up at the end of her toughest shifts with takeout from the restaurant she’d offhandedly mentioned loving three weeks ago.

At twenty, Leah felt as though she had been thrust into a fairytale written by someone who only understood high stakes and deep colors.

“You’re fast, Romano,” she whispered one night as they stood on the balcony of his apartment, the cool night air pulling at her hair. He was standing behind her, his arms wrapped securely around her waist, his chin resting lightly on her shoulder.

“When you know what you want, Leah, you don’t stall,” he said against her skin, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles over her hip. “I’ve spent thirty-two years waiting to find someone who makes me want to slow down. I’m not going to waste a single day.”

He made her feel safe, cherished, and entirely seen. Yet, underneath the grand romantic gestures and the steady warmth of his hands, Leah could feel the low-frequency hum of something much larger—a intensity that bordered on overwhelming. Romano didn’t just love; he claimed. He didn’t just care; he protected with a fierce, absolute devotion that left no room for doubt, and no room for distance.

She was falling, fast and without a safety net, entirely consumed by the storm.

The walk up the three flights of stairs to Leah’s apartment felt longer than usual, charged with a heavy, quiet heat that had been building all evening.

Inside, her place was modest—a small living area with a plush beige couch, a rack of scrub tops hanging near the radiator, and framed prints she’d bought at local flea markets. It was simple, lived-in, and entirely hers. But the moment Romano crossed the threshold, the space seemed to shrink around his presence.

He didn’t immediately rush her. Instead, he took off his coat, hanging it neatly on the hook by the door, and turned to look around with a slow, appreciative smile.

“So this is where you hide when you’re not saving lives,” he murmured, his voice low in the quiet apartment.

“It’s not much,” Leah said, suddenly self-conscious as she set her keys on the counter. “I haven’t had much time to decorate since moving in.”

Romano walked up to her, closing the distance between them until she had to tilt her head back to look into his dark eyes. He reached out, his heavy hand gently cupping the side of her face, his thumb tracing the sharp line of her cheekbone.

“It’s perfect,” he said softly. “Because you’re in it.”

He leaned down, pressing his lips to hers in a kiss that started slow, almost lingering, before deepening into something far more intense. Leah wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, pulled under completely by the warmth of him and the faint scent of rain and leather.

Romano lifted her effortlessly, her feet clearing the floor as he carried her the few steps toward the bedroom. He set her down gently on the edge of the mattress, stepping back just enough to look at her under the soft yellow light filtering in from the streetlamps outside.

“Are you sure, Leah?” he asked, his dark eyes fierce, searching her face for any trace of hesitation. The intensity in his voice was absolute—he was giving her the floor, but every line of his posture made it clear he was completely consumed by her.

Leah reached up, taking his hand and pulling him down to her. “I’m sure.”