The warmth of Xander's embrace still clung to her skin even after they'd come down from the rooftop. Erin wandered the halls like a ghost caught between two worlds. She was supposed to leave tonight. That had been the plan all along. But now…
His words haunted her.
"You don't have to figure it out alone."
He meant it. She'd felt the sincerity in his voice—heard the unspoken promise between each syllable. It wasn't just a momentary softness or some fleeting comfort. It was real. And it was starting to unravel everything she thought she knew.
The plan had always been simple: get in, find something for blackmail, get out. But somewhere between their late-night conversations, their tangled silences, and the way his gaze lingered on her like she was the only thing he ever wanted to see… Erin had lost her place in the story.
She shouldn't be hesitating.
But she was.
And when she stepped into the kitchen to prepare what was supposed to be her last dinner in this house, her heart wouldn't stop racing.
She wanted this to be ordinary—simple, easy. Just another night. But there was a strange kind of ache woven into every motion. Her fingers lingered longer on the herbs, the stir of the pot was slower, more thoughtful. The clinking of metal and glass felt too loud for the quiet decisions being made in her mind.
She didn't hear him come in.
But she felt him.
His arms wrapped around her from behind, slow and warm, his chin resting lightly on her shoulder. The tension in her back melted instinctively, and for a moment, she forgot everything else.
"You're cooking again," he murmured, voice low, brushing her temple with his nose.
"You bribed the chef to take the night off," she said, barely holding back a smile. "Don't act so surprised."
"Can you blame me? I'm used to five-star meals now."
Erin chuckled softly, stirring the sauce with one hand while the other rested gently on his arm around her waist. "You're a shameless liar."
He nuzzled closer. "No, I'm just spoiled."
There was something comforting in the silence that followed. It was domestic and quiet in a way that should've been impossible for them. They'd started with lies. They existed in a limbo of secrets and carefully constructed roles.
But this—this felt like something real.
Xander helped with the vegetables, hovering close enough that his shoulder kept brushing hers. He kept stealing bites of what she was making and pretending he wasn't, until she caught him red-handed.
"Did you just eat that raw?" she said, glaring at him.
"I'm sampling. Quality control."
"That was ginger."
"…That explains the kick."
She laughed, the sound slipping out more freely than she intended, and Xander paused. His eyes lingered on her face like he was memorizing it. Like he knew, even without her saying anything, that this might be the last time he'd get to see her like this.
When she looked back at him, the air shifted.
He stepped forward.
Before she could say anything, his hands found her waist and lifted her onto the kitchen counter. Her breath hitched in her throat as her legs instinctively wrapped around his hips for balance.
"Xander—"
He didn't answer. Just leaned in, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch lingering longer than it needed to.
"You looked like you were thinking too hard," he said quietly, voice husky.
"I was."
"I know."
"You know? How?"
"My parents told me you sent them a resignation letter this morning."
Their foreheads touched.
Erin's hands slid up his arms, settling on his shoulders as she tried to keep her balance—tried to keep her composure.
"You're making it really hard to leave," she whispered, before she could stop herself.
He pulled back slightly, just enough to look into her eyes.
"Then don't."
Her lips parted, but no words came out.
And then he kissed her.
It wasn't hurried or desperate. It was slow—achingly slow—like he was trying to convince her that there was still time. That maybe what they were building here could survive the truths she hadn't told him.
She kissed him back, arms winding around his neck as his hands cradled her thighs. Every inch of contact felt like a vow they weren't ready to make, but couldn't seem to stop.
His lips trailed down her jaw, his breath warm against her skin, and for a second, the world disappeared. There was no mission. No secrets. No ticking clock.
Just this.
Just him.
Her fingers curled into his shirt, and he let out a quiet sound—half restraint, half surrender.
But even in the quiet heat of that moment, part of her knew the night would still come. Her decision hadn't disappeared. It had only gotten heavier.
When the kiss broke, her breath was shaky, her voice softer than she wanted it to be.
"Xander…"
He pressed his forehead to hers again.
"You don't have to say it. Not tonight."
She nodded, eyes fluttering shut as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close like he already knew she was slipping through his fingers.
And somewhere in the back of her mind, Erin wondered if she'd be strong enough to go through with it when the stars returned to the sky.