His use of her nickname, the one only he used, undid something in her chest. “This is a bad idea,” she breathed.

Heat flooded her cheeks. Last night, he’d worn a simple gray henley, the sleeves pushed up to his forearms. When he’d reached across the table for the wine, she’d watched the muscle in his arm shift and had felt a jolt so visceral she’d nearly dropped her fork. He’d caught her. He always caught her.

“I can’t,” she whispered, the words barely audible over the rain.

“Yes, you do.” He stood up, the careful distance between them collapsing as he crossed the room in three easy strides. He didn’t sit beside her. Instead, he knelt in front of the window seat, his knees on the floor, so they were eye to eye. “You look at me like you’re afraid of me. And I don’t think it’s fear, Nic.”

“Tell me to stop,” he said, his face inches from hers. His hand came up, trembling slightly, and his fingertips brushed a strand of damp hair from her cheek. “Tell me you don’t feel it, and I’ll walk away. We’ll go back to polite. We’ll pretend.”

“So,” he said, thumb tracing her cheekbone. “What do we do now?”

He smiled then—not the cocky, public smile, but the real, vulnerable one she’d only seen twice before. “Because for three years, I’ve watched you paint in the garage with your tongue poking out when you’re concentrating. I’ve memorized the way you say ‘good morning’ when you’re still half-asleep and your voice cracks. I’ve fought the urge to pull you into my room every single night you’ve walked past my door to get a glass of water.”

“Or pretend.”

“Liar.” He set down the lens and the cloth. “You’re thinking about what your mom would say if she saw the way you looked at me at dinner last night.”

She finally lifted her gaze. His eyes, the color of a winter sky, were fixed on her with an intensity that made her stomach drop. “Maybe I’m just appreciating the quiet.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she whispered.

She should. Every rational part of her brain screamed it. But rationality had left the building the moment he’d knelt before her like she was something sacred.

“Can’t tell me to stop?” he asked, his forehead now resting against hers.

Zurich didn’t flinch. “You’re not reading.”

“The worst,” he agreed, his voice a low rasp. “Our parents are in love. We share a last name on legal documents. If this blows up, it blows up everything .”