Jace didn't reply to her goodnight text until morning.
Jace: Glad you made it back alive. Barely.
Mira: A guy buys me tacos once and suddenly he's invested in my safety?
Jace: I just don't want your ghost haunting my shop. This place is creepy enough.
She laughed into her pillow before getting up for coffee.
Something about their rhythm felt effortless. But it was also terrifying—like she'd accidentally stepped into a current and didn't know how deep it went.
---
Later that week, Mira took a chance and invited Jace to her place.
Not for anything intense. Just... "Come over. I made too much pasta," she'd texted.
Jace: That's either a lie or a trap.
Mira: A little bit of both.
He showed up wearing a dark grey hoodie and the same boots she always saw him in—like he'd come straight from a construction site he didn't care about.
He looked uncomfortable. Out of place.
She liked that he came anyway.
---
"I hope you like garlic," she said as he stepped inside.
"If I die, it's on record you poisoned me willingly."
The apartment was small, lived-in, with books stacked on the coffee table and a half-dead plant in the window. He paused at the door like he wasn't sure if he should step further in.
"You can sit," she offered.
Jace nodded, but didn't move until she did. Then he sank onto the edge of the couch like it might swallow him.
They ate out of mismatched bowls. Mira curled her legs under her, watching him as he carefully avoided spilling sauce on the throw pillows.
"You don't go to people's places much, do you?" she asked.
Jace shook his head. "You don't invite people in unless you want them to see something real. Most people don't."
"You think I'm showing you something real?"
"You haven't asked me to leave yet."
She stared at him, surprised by the quiet honesty in his voice. He didn't say things like most guys did. No fluff. No games. Just truth wrapped in static.
---
After dinner, they ended up watching a half-watched documentary Mira forgot was still queued.
The couch grew smaller as time passed. Their arms didn't quite touch—but the heat between them buzzed like faulty wiring.
Somewhere around minute 42, Mira turned to look at him.
He was already looking at her.
"Can I ask you something?" she said, voice low.
Jace nodded once.
"Why me?"
His brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"You don't let people in. I can tell. But you're letting me in. Why?"
He didn't answer right away. When he did, it was so soft she almost missed it.
"Because you don't make noise," he said. "You don't fill the air with fake things."
"And that matters?"
"It does to me."
Their eyes locked. The air between them pulled tight, charged.
Mira leaned forward first.
Just an inch. Then another.
Jace met her halfway.
The kiss was slow—unhurried but electric. Not hungry, not desperate. Just... true.
When they pulled apart, Mira's heart was pounding.
"Still deciding?" she whispered.
Jace gave a half-smile. "Yeah."
"But leaning?"
He nodded. "Hard."