Eliza didn't sleep much that night. Every time she closed her eyes, the memory replayed itself in vivid flashes the riverside glistening under streetlamps, the rough stone beneath her knees, Ari's hands gripping her hips, their lips pressed to hers like the world depended on it.
She turned over in bed, staring at the ceiling as the first gray hints of dawn seeped through her blinds. Her lips still tingled, her skin still hummed. It wasn't just the kiss. It was the way Ari had held her, the way she had pulled back just long enough to ask if she wanted her to stop. Nobody had ever kissed her like that hungry but careful, as though her heart mattered as much as her body.
By the time the sun had climbed above the rooftops, Eliza was restless. She showered, brewed coffee, and tried to distract herself with chores, but Ari lingered in every thought. She picked up her phone twice, thumb hovering over her contact, before finally shoving it in her pocket with a frustrated sigh.
It didn't matter. Ari texted first.
Ari: Did you sleep?
Eliza: Barely. You?
Ari: Same.
A pause, then another buzz:
Ari: Let me cook for you tonight. My place. 7?
Eliza bit her lip, smiling despite herself. She typed back quickly before she could overthink it.
Eliza: Only if you promise dessert.
The reply came with alarming speed.
Ari: I was hoping you'd say that.
….
Ari's apartment sat above a little bookstore on a quieter street near the edge of town. The stairwell creaked beneath Eliza's boots as she climbed, heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and nerves. She told herself this was just dinner, but the part of her that still remembered the taste of Ari's lips knew it was more.
When Ari opened the door, the smell of garlic and herbs wafted out, rich and inviting. She wore a plain gray sweater, sleeves pushed up, hair slightly mussed, like she'd been too focused on cooking to bother with mirrors. Eliza thought she'd never looked better.
"You actually cook?" she teased as she stepped inside.
Ari raised an eyebrow. "What did you expect? Takeout?"
"Honestly, yeah."
The apartment was small but warm aqwooden floors, shelves stacked with books, a few plants drooping in the corners. On the table, two candles flickered beside neatly set plates. It wasn't extravagant, but it felt deliberate, personal.
They ate slowly, the conversation Sqweaving between playful banter and quieter admissions. Eliza learned Ari liked old vinyl records and late-night walks; Ari learned Eliza had once dreamed of painting but abandoned it when life got too complicated.
At one point, Ari leaned back, glass of wine in hand, watching her with a softness that made Eliza's pulse quicken. "You hide behind jokes a lot," she said.
Eliza blinked. "That's rude."
"It's true." Ari's lips curved into a smile. "You deflect when things get serious. Like you're afraid if someone sees too much of you, they won't stay."
The words hit sharper than Eliza expected. She stared at her fork, unsure what to say. No one had ever called her out so gently before.
Ari reached across the table, brushing her fingers against hers. "I like the parts you try to hide."
Heat bloomed in Eliza's chest, creeping up her neck. She swallowed hard, unable to stop the small, shaky smile tugging at her lips.
Dinner ended, but neither moved to clear the table. The air between them thickened again, heavy with the same unspoken pull from the night before.
Ari stood first, circling the table slowly. When she stopped behind her chair, Eliza tilted her head back, looking up at her with wide eyes. Her hand rested on her shoulder light, hesitant.
"Come here," Ari whispered.
Eliza rose without thinking.
The kiss that followed was slower than the riverside, deeper, infused with something tender and deliberate. Ari's hand cradled her jaw as if she were something fragile, while Eliza's arms slid around her waist, holding her closer, anchoring herself in the warmth of their body.
They moved together toward the couch, lips never parting. When they sank into the cushions, Eliza found herself straddling Ari's lap again, déjà vu crashing over her, but here in the privacy of Ari's home the tension felt sharper, the air hotter.
Their mouths moved with practiced desperation, tongues tangling, teeth grazing. Eliza moaned softly against her, fingers threading into their hair. Ari groaned in response, her hands tightening around her waist, grounding her, urging her closer.
For a breathless moment, Eliza thought she might dissolve right there, that the heat and pressure and want would consume her whole.
But then Ari slowed, pulling back just enough to rest her forehead against hers. Their breaths came ragged, their chest heaving beneath her palms.
"Eliza," she murmured, voice low and rough, "I don't want to rush this."
Eliza's eyes fluttered open. "Do you think I do?" she whispered, lips brushing hers.
"No." Ari's hand cupped the back of her neck. "That's why I need to go slow."
It wasn't rejection. It was restraint, heavy and deliberate, and it only made her want her more. She kissed her again, softer this time, pouring all the words she couldn't say into the press of her lips.
When they finally broke apart, both trembling, Eliza leaned into her chest, listening to the steady thrum of Ari's heartbeat. It was the safest she had felt in years.
Neither spoke for a long time. The candles burned low, the night thickened, and the world outside shrank away.
For now, there was only this the warmth of Ari's arms, the promise in her touch, the steady build of something that terrified and thrilled her in equal measure.