"I want you to stay," she said softly, and my chest constricted. "I mean… I don't want to be alone." The vulnerability in her voice hit me harder than I expected. Her confession was quiet. I had spent the whole day with her, laughed with her, teased her, held her attention, and now, when the night fell, I was ready to flee again.
I took a closer look at her and felt a pang of guilt. She was miles away from her family, and her only company was me—and even that, I wasn't fully giving. I was like a moth, drawn to a flame I couldn't touch, hovering on the edge of wanting her too much, yet fearing the consequences if I crossed that invisible line. My own desires warred with my better judgment. I wanted to stay, to wrap my arms around her, to feel her warmth pressed against mine, but what if I overstepped? What if she panicked?
I took a step toward her, and then another.
