As Jamison opened the door, one foot still on the threshold, her voice made him pause. He glanced back to see Ivy standing there, eyes wide, face tense with worry. He couldn’t help but wonder what was going on.

Hadn’t she just been yelling at him to get out? And now–what, she didn’t want him to leave?

“I’m just taking out this food waste. Leaving it inside isn’t exactly sanitary,” Jamison replied, grinning as he shot her a look. “What’s up?”

Ivy swallowed, cheeks inexplicably flushing. “Nothing. Just… asking.”

Before she could finish, she spun on her heel and walked away, clearly embarrassed to face him.

Jamison saw right through her, a knowing smile tugging at his lips as he headed downstairs with the trash.

Ivy sank onto the sofa, pressing the back of her hand to her burning face, emotions in complete turmoil.

She’d been way too impulsive just now; he must have picked up on it…

A sharp click sounded as the smart lock disengaged.

Ivy quickly lowered her hand, grabbed her phone, and pretended to be absorbed in a video.

Jamison walked in, headed straight for the bathroom to wash and sanitize his hands, then returned to the living room.

By now Ivy had steeled herself. She glanced up at him, trying to sound casual. “It’s getting late. You should probably go.”

Jamison just chuckled, strolling over and plopping himself down right beside her, close enough that their arms brushed.

Ivy’s heart skipped a beat. Instinctively, she edged away.

“What’s this supposed to mean?” Jamison looked pointedly at how she moved aside.

“It means you’re squishing me.”

His smile turned sly. Suddenly, he slipped an arm around her waist, lifting her up with ridiculous ease.

“Hey–what are you doing–”

Before Ivy could protest, she found herself settled squarely on his lap, her entire body instantly aflame.

She was on her period, for crying out loud! All this tugging and pulling–what if she stained his clothes? That would be mortifying.

“Jamison, put me down.” She tried to sound fierce, glaring at him in warning.

He ignored her, arms still locked firmly around her waist. He tilted his head back, an infuriatingly attractive half-smile on his lips.

“Be honest, you didn’t really want me to leave, did you?” he asked, voicing the suspicion in his mind.

“No.” Ivy turned away, eyes avoiding his. “I was just making conversation.”

“Ivy… There’s nothing shameful about loving someone. You don’t have to pretend you don’t care.” Jamison’s words hit her square in the chest.

She pressed her lips together, silent.

He tried again. “So, you’d rather I stayed?”

She sat in his lap, slightly above him, so when she looked down, her gaze was almost commanding.

“You want the truth?”

“Always.”

She hesitated, then settled herself more comfortably, deciding to be honest. “We just made things official. Our feelings aren’t exactly at the ‘can’t stand a day apart’ stage, so no, it’s not that I can’t let you go–”

Jamison’s smile faltered, the look on his face screaming, Why did I even ask?

“But,” Ivy continued, her tone shifting, “I saw the news online. Roads are flooded, the storm’s pretty bad, a lot of cars have been stranded. Emergency crews are still out rescuing people.”

Jamison understood immediately. “So you’re worried something will happen to me?”

She nodded, her expression softening. “Whatever else, safety comes first. If you left and something happened on your way home, I’d feel responsible.”

Her words were a little too calm, a little too logical.

But Jamison still caught the sweetness beneath it.

“And you say you’re not that attached?” He grinned. “You never used to care about what happened to me. Now you’re worried. If that’s not love, what is?”

Ivy just stared at him, speechless. After a moment, she muttered, “You really know how to gaslight yourself, don’t you?”

Jamison laughed.

“So, should I stay or should I go?” he teased, handing her the decision.

Ivy glared at him, exasperated.

He just grinned, all mischief. “Didn’t you say I should respect your wishes? So you decide. If you want me to leave, I’ll go. If you want me to stay, I’ll stay.”

She kept glaring, tempted to bite him.

She’d already spelled it out–she’d seen the news, the flood was serious. Did he really need her to say the actual words: “Stay here tonight“?

Was that what it would take?

Ivy was never one to tiptoe around. Since she’d already said so much, there was no point in backing down now.

“There’s a guest room upstairs. The bed isn’t made, so if you’re staying, you’ll have to handle it yourself.” She was feeling crummy, weak and tired, and had no intention of fixing up the room for him.

Jamison’s smile was entirely too pleased. “Deal. I’ll shower and make the bed later.” The mention of a shower made Ivy’s eyes widen. “Wait, you don’t have any clean clothes! And mine definitely won’t fit you.”

If a woman stayed the night at her boyfriend’s, she could borrow a shirt and play at being sexy. The reverse? Not so much.

Jamison said, “I’ve got spare clothes in the car.”

She eyed him suspiciously, and he hastily explained, “Don’t get the wrong idea–I always keep clean clothes in there, just in case. My job can get messy sometimes.” Ivy thought about it and realized he had a point.

“Fine. Go get your stuff. I’m heading up to bed.” She tried to get up from his lap but his arms tightened, holding her in place.

“What are you doing?”