Jim didn’t dare move, didn’t even breathe too deeply, afraid of breaking whatever fragile thing had settled between them. The weight of her against him, the slow, steady rhythm of her breathing, the warmth of her hand in his—it was grounding in a way he hadn’t expected. Something about it felt like the opposite of the chaos that usually defined his life, like he’d stumbled into a moment of peace he wasn’t sure he deserved but wasn’t willing to let go of either.
Rory shifted slightly, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. He felt the curve of her smile against the fabric of his shirt, small and secret, like she knew exactly what she was doing to him. The cooking show droned on in the background, but the competition barely registered.
“This is nice,” she murmured, voice drowsy.
“Yeah,”
