It wasn’t something I had noticed before, at least not consciously, but today it felt so obvious. Each time he’d explain a route or suggest a spot to visit, his shoulder would brush lightly against mine, or his hand would graze the back of my chair. His voice, already deep and soothing, seemed to soften even more when he addressed me directly, as if the words were meant only for me.
I nodded along, pretending to focus on the itinerary, but my mind was elsewhere. The warmth of his closeness sent a pleasant flutter through my chest. Every time he leaned in, I could catch a hint of his cologne, something woodsy and warm that made it harder to concentrate on anything else. I didn’t know if he was aware of the way he did it, the way he seemed to inch closer without realizing it. Maybe it was just a habit, something he did when he was excited, but it felt more intimate than that.
"Do you think we should book the cabin near the lake or the one closer to the mountains?" he asked, his face just inches from mine now as he looked at the map between us. His voice was filled with enthusiasm, but all I could focus on was how close his lips were to mine, and the way his breath felt warm against my cheek.
I swallowed, trying to gather my thoughts. "I—uh, the lake sounds nice," I replied, my voice a little softer than I intended. My pulse quickened as his eyes met mine. There was a moment of quiet, where everything else seemed to fade—the coffee shop, the trip plans, the maps. It was just us, sitting there, closer than we probably needed to be, lost in the kind of silence that felt charged with something unspoken.
He smiled, that crooked smile that always made my heart skip a beat. "The lake it is," he said, but his eyes lingered on me for a moment longer than necessary. I could feel the air between us shift, as if we were on the edge of something new, something we hadn’t acknowledged yet.
As the conversation moved back to trip details, I couldn’t help but notice how his hand, now resting on the table, inched closer to mine. Our fingers brushed lightly, and I could feel the warmth of his skin against mine. Neither of us moved away. If anything, we both leaned in just a little bit more, our arms now almost touching. It felt like the smallest gesture, but it made my heart race in a way that nothing else had before.
For the rest of the afternoon, our conversation flowed easily, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed. Every laugh we shared felt lighter, every glance a little longer, every brush of our hands more deliberate. The trip planning took a backseat to the quiet, unspoken connection building between us.
As we gathered up the maps and brochures, he stood up and stretched, looking out the window for a moment. "You know," he said, his voice thoughtful, "this trip is going to be amazing. But I’m really glad we’re doing it together."
I smiled, my heart swelling at his words. "Me too," I said softly, and this time, when he leaned in, it wasn’t to look at a map or suggest a new destination. He just stayed there, close to me, his eyes searching mine as if he was waiting for something.
And then, without saying a word, he took my hand, his fingers gently wrapping around mine. The gesture was so simple, so natural, but it felt like the culmination of all those little moments leading up to now.
We didn’t need to say anything. In that small space between us, with the plans for our trip still lingering on the table, something much more important had been decided. The closeness I had been feeling wasn’t just in my head. It was real, and it was mutual.
As we walked out of the coffee shop, hand in hand, I realized that the trip wasn’t the only thing I was looking forward to anymore.
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