"Invite me to your place."
I blink twice. "Noah, wait—"
My voice cuts through the cool night air, sharper than I mean it to be. He stops mid-step and turns back, one brow raised ever so slightly, hands still tucked into the pockets of his coat. The silence that falls between us is heavy, stretched taut like the space in my chest.
"I can't invite you to my place," I say, softer now. "Not yet. I'm sorry."
There's a beat. Just one. Then he nods. Like he expected me to say that. I thought he might disappointed or upset about it, but he just lets it slide.
"I'm sorry," he says. "That was sudden of me."
No argument. No confusion. Just quiet understanding. But my stomach stays knotted.
