A Leap of Faith

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The scent of hazelnut and espresso lingered in the air as she took a slow sip of her latte, letting the warmth settle in her chest. Across from her, he was unusually quiet, his black coffee untouched, his fingers drumming against the table in a slow, rhythmic pattern.

She had seen him like this before—lost in thoughts he wasn't ready to share.

But today, she wasn't going to let it slide.

"Talk to me," she said gently, setting her cup down.

His eyes flicked up to hers, guarded but searching. "About what?"

She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "You know what."

A sigh left his lips as he leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face. "I shouldn't have brought you into this."

"You didn't," she corrected. "I stepped in."

His fingers tensed, his grip tightening around the coffee cup. "That doesn't mean you should have to deal with it."

She studied him for a moment, weighing her words. "You're not pushing me away," she said, more a statement than a question.

He hesitated. "I don't want to."

"Then don't."

His jaw tightened, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "It's not that simple."

"Maybe it is," she countered.

He exhaled, shaking his head. "You don't understand—"

"Then explain it to me."

The words hung between them, the weight of them pressing down on both of their shoulders.

He looked away, out the café window, watching the people passing by, as if the answers might be out there somewhere. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter.

"I used to work for someone," he admitted. "Someone who doesn't take betrayal lightly."

She felt her breath catch, but she forced herself to stay calm. "What kind of work?"

His fingers drummed against the cup again, a nervous habit she was beginning to recognize. "Nothing good."

Her mind raced with possibilities, but she didn't let them distract her. "And now they're back?"

He nodded slowly. "I think so."

She swallowed. "Are they dangerous?"

His lips pressed into a thin line. "Yes."

The weight of that single word settled between them.

She should have been afraid. Maybe part of her was. But fear wasn't the strongest emotion running through her right now. No, that was something else—something closer to frustration.

Because he was doing it again. Holding her at a distance. Trying to carry everything on his own.

"You don't have to do this alone," she said, reaching across the table to place her hand over his.

He flinched at the touch, but he didn't pull away. Instead, his fingers curled around hers, holding on like she was the only steady thing in a world that had suddenly started spinning too fast.

"I don't want you getting hurt," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

She squeezed his hand. "Then let me in."

He studied her for a long moment, like he was trying to decide if he could really let himself believe her.

Then, finally, he nodded.

"Okay."

The tension in his body seemed to ease—just a little—but she could tell this was only the beginning.

She wasn't naïve. Whatever was coming, it wasn't going to be easy.

But she meant what she said.

She wasn't going anywhere.

—

The walk back to her apartment was quiet, but it wasn't uncomfortable. If anything, it felt like a kind of understanding had settled between them, unspoken but solid.

Still, she knew this wasn't over.

The moment they stepped inside, he shut the door behind them, locking it out of habit. She watched as he ran a hand through his hair, his usual confidence slipping just enough for her to see the weight he was carrying.

"You're overthinking again," she pointed out.

His lips quirked up slightly. "You don't know that."

She raised an eyebrow. "I do."

He sighed, leaning against the counter. "I just… I don't like not having control over this."

She moved closer, resting her hands on the counter beside him. "What do you need from me?"

His gaze flicked to hers, something vulnerable beneath the surface. "Just… be patient with me."

Her heart softened. "Always."

A beat passed, then he reached out, his fingers brushing against hers before fully taking her hand.

"I meant what I said before," he murmured. "I'm not going anywhere."

A lump formed in her throat, but she swallowed it down, nodding. "Me neither."

His thumb traced absent circles on the back of her hand. "Then we'll figure it out."

"We will," she agreed.

And in that moment, she knew—whatever was coming, they'd face it together.

Their connection was stronger than it had ever been, and as he stood there, holding her hand, she realized just how much trust had been built between them. The trust that she hadn't known she was capable of giving—until now.

The quiet that filled the space between them was comfortable, but it was clear they both still had a lot to process. She wasn't going to push him to explain more than he was ready to share. But there was an unspoken promise in the way their fingers intertwined—she was there, and he knew it.

They would deal with whatever came next. Together.

Finally, he moved, releasing her hand and stepping to the side. "I'll make dinner," he said with a quiet smile.

She raised an eyebrow. "Dinner?"

His grin grew wider, and the tension between them seemed to melt away with the change in his demeanor. "Yeah. You've had a stressful day, and I'm guessing you haven't had a home-cooked meal in a while."

She laughed softly, a sense of warmth spreading through her chest. "I haven't had a home-cooked meal in a while. But what about you? What if you need to work or—"

"Later," he interrupted. "For now, you and I are going to sit down, eat, and just be."

Her heart skipped, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she truly believed it was going to be okay. They were going to be okay.

As he moved toward the kitchen, she stayed rooted to the spot for a moment, watching him with a quiet smile. This—this was what she had been waiting for, what she had been afraid to trust. But now, she felt it. The weight of his words, the sincerity in his actions, the depth of what they were building together.

When he turned to look at her, his smile soft and knowing, it was like the final piece of the puzzle clicking into place.

"Dinner's going to be ready in a few minutes," he said, and her smile grew wider.

She stepped forward, her heart lighter than it had been in days.

"I think I can wait," she replied, her voice quiet but full of certainty.

The rest of the world could wait. Because in this moment, everything felt right.