Jason's lips are warm and insistent against mine, and for a moment, it feels like the world stops spinning. There's no media, no chaos, no voices telling me this is a bad idea. It's just us—him and me—and for the first time, I let myself sink into it.

His hands come up to frame my face, his thumbs brushing softly against my skin as if he's afraid I'll slip away. But I don't. I stay right here, kissing him back like it's the only thing keeping me tethered to the ground.

When we finally pull apart, both of us breathing heavily, Jason rests his forehead against mine. His blue eyes search mine, his expression both serious and hopeful.

"Say it," he whispers, his voice low and rough.

"Say what?" I ask, though I know exactly what he means.

"Say you'll give us a chance."

I swallow hard, my chest tightening with the weight of everything unsaid. But when I look at him, at the vulnerability in his eyes, at the way he's laid everything bare for me, I know there's only one answer.

"Okay," I whisper. "Let's give this a try."

Relief washes over his face, and the smile that follows is so genuine, so unguarded, it makes my heart ache. He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead before pulling back just enough to meet my gaze again.

"You won't regret it," he promises, his voice steady.

I laugh softly; the sound shaky but real. "You better not make me regret it."

He grins, and for a second, everything feels light, almost easy.

But then the door swings open, the sudden sound making me jolt back like a guilty teenager caught breaking curfew. My heart leaps into my throat as I spin around, and there, in the doorway, is Matt.

My brother stands frozen, his hand still on the doorframe, his eyebrows practically in his hairline as he takes in the scene before him. His gaze flicks between Jason and me, lingering on how close we're standing, on Jason's hand still resting on my waist.

For one excruciating second, no one says a word.

And then Matt does the last thing I expect; he grins.

"About time," my brother says, stepping fully into the room and crossing his arms over his chest.

I blink, my brain short-circuiting. "What? What do you mean about time?"

"Don't look at me like that, Arden." Matt's tone is maddeningly smug as he leans against the counter, eyeing us both like he's been waiting for this moment for years. "You've liked each other for years, of course I noticed."

"No, we-" Matt cuts me off.

"Yes, you have, you're both just stubborn. Why do you think you two were on this trip together in the first place? Why do you think your rooms were next to each other? I'm not stupid."

I stare at him, my jaw hanging open. "You planned this?"

Matt shrugs, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "I might've... nudged things along."

Behind him, Aster appears, wide-eyed and utterly bewildered. "Wait, what? You did this? I thought it was just a coincidence!"

Matt glances over his shoulder at his wife, his smirk widening. "A coincidence? Really? You didn't think it was odd that they just happened to be sitting next to each other on the same flight and in adjoining rooms? I did the booking."

"Matt!" Aster looks horrified, but I barely register her reaction because my brain is still stuck on the fact that my brother—the one who is always so overprotective of me—has been meddling in my love life.

"Wait a second," Jason cuts in, his voice tinged with disbelief. "You knew?"

Matt turns to Jason, shaking his head like he's dealing with two particularly dense children. "Of course I knew. You've liked her for years, man. You're not exactly subtle."

Jason stares at him, his mouth opening and closing like he's not sure how to respond. "And you were okay with it?"

"Not at first," Matt admits, his tone light but honest. "But then I realized you're both adults, and, frankly, you're both stubborn as hell. I figured if it was going to happen, it would happen on your terms." His eyes narrow slightly on me. "Though I didn't exactly plan for you two to sneak off and get yourselves stranded on an island like a couple of idiots."

Jason winces, and I feel my face heat as Matt levels us with a pointed glare.

"But," Matt continues, his expression softening, "you're my best friend, and she's my sister. And if anyone's going to make her happy, I'd want it to be you."

I gape at him, my brain struggling to process this new information. "Matt, what the hell? Why didn't you say something?"

"Because it wasn't my business to say," he replies simply. "I wanted you two to figure it out for yourselves." He pauses, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Besides, it was way more entertaining watching you both dance around each other."

Jason mutters something under his breath, but I barely hear it over the sound of my own indignation. "This is insane. You meddled in my life, Matt!"

"And you're welcome," he says breezily.

Jason shakes his head, still looking vaguely stunned. "I can't believe you knew."

Matt claps a hand on his shoulder. "I've always known, Jase. I've known since we were teenagers."

Jason stares at him for a beat before letting out a soft laugh, like he can't quite believe this is happening. "You're unbelievable."

"Maybe," Matt says, his grin returning. "But it worked, didn't it?"

"Matt," Jason says, his voice edged with mock exasperation, "you've made your point. Now, how about you leave so we can actually figure this out like the adults you claim we are?" Jason's hand tightens on my waist, pulling me into his body and my stomach swoops.

Matt raises his hands in mock surrender, but not before throwing us both one last smug look. "Fine, fine. I don't want to know."

He turns and heads for the door, muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like "Finally."

Aster lingers for a moment, still looking slightly dazed, before following him out, almost running to catch up and no doubt get the information she needs.

Jason turns back to me, his expression caught somewhere between amused and exasperated. "Well, that was... unexpected."

"Unexpected?" I echo, my voice still faint with disbelief. "That was insane!"

Jason laughs softly, stepping closer and wrapping an arm around my waist. "Welcome to our new reality, Kitten."

I groan, leaning into him despite myself. "This is going to be a disaster, isn't it?"

"Maybe," he says, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "But we've survived worse." He wraps his arms around me, pulling me into his chest.

"So... what now? What does a step forward even look like?"

He exhales, running a hand through his damp hair. "Well, we start with dinner."

I blink at him. "Dinner?"

"Yes, dinner." His grin grows, the teasing edge I've come to associate with him returning. "You know, that thing where we sit at a table, eat food, and have an actual conversation? Preferably one without fish."

I can't help but laugh, and the sound feels strange but comforting, like something I haven't done in a long time. "I think I forgot what that's like."

"Then let me remind you." He gestures to my kitchen. "You got anything in there I can use?"

I arch a brow. "You're cooking?"

"Why not? I've gotten pretty good at making something out of nothing." His smirk turns playful. "Unless you'd prefer we go out? Though we might need to bring your security detail with us. You know, since you're 'just some girl' and I'm the 'famous hockey star.'"

I roll my eyes, but there's no heat behind it. "Fine. Let's see what you can do. But I'm not sure it'll be edible."

He grins, and for the first time since we left the island, I feel lighter.

"Is this our first official date?"

"This is your last first date."

With that parting line, Jason plants a soft kiss on the top of my head before heading for the fridge while I'm still stuck on what he said.

My last first-

"Are you coming kitten?"

"Dinner sounds good." I say in a daze.

"Then what?" He waggles his brows, and I narrow my eyes, before rolling them.

I shake my head, trying to find my footing in all this. "You're so sure of yourself, aren't you?"

"Only about this," he says, his voice steady and sure. "Only about you."

I feel my heart lurch in my chest, and I force myself to look away, my gaze landing on the floor instead of the intensity in his eyes. "Jason... I-" I shake my head, unable to find the words to say what 'm feeling.

I've never done this before, and this just feels like so . . . Much. Is this what it's meant to feel like?

His hand slides from my cheek to my shoulder, anchoring me. "I know," he says not even needing to hear the words I can't articulate, his tone softening. "You don't have to be scared. Not with me."

The weight of his words presses against me, but instead of crushing me, it feels steadying. Like maybe, just maybe, everything going to be okay.

"I don't know how to do this," I admit, the words spilling out before I can stop them. "I've never been good at letting people in."

"Then we'll figure it out," he says simply, like it's the easiest thing in the world.

I look up at him again, and for once, I let myself really see him. Not the Jason everyone else sees—the confident, charming hockey star—but the Jason who's standing here in my kitchen, looking at me like I'm the only thing that matters.

"Okay," I say, the word feeling foreign but right.

His smile is blinding, and before I can second-guess myself, he's pulling me into his kiss. This time, it's softer, slower, like we have all the time in the world.

It feels like we do.

Jason pulls back just enough to look me in the eyes, and his thumb brushes over the back of my hand. I should still feel uneasy, hesitant, anything but this strange calmness, but instead, I'm rooted to the spot, unable to look away from him.

"You don't know how long I've waited to hear you say that," he murmurs, his voice low and warm.

I let out a shaky breath, stepping back slightly to create some space between us. "This doesn't mean everything is magically fixed, Jason. There's still... so much."

"I know," he says, stepping back too, though the closeness doesn't feel entirely gone. "But I'll take this. One step at a time. I just needed to know you're not giving up on us."

The word "us" feels foreign and heavy but not unwelcome. I wrap my arms around myself, leaning against the counter.

As Jason rummages through my cabinets, muttering to himself about my apparent lack of "real food," I sit on the counter, watching him. There's something surreal about seeing him here, in my space, acting as though it's the most natural thing in the world.

"Do you even know what you're doing?" I ask after a particularly loud clatter of pots and pans.

"Do you?" he counters, holding up a bag of rice with a triumphant expression. "You survived weeks with me, so have a little faith."

"Bold of you to assume I'm not questioning all of my life choices right now," I tease, though the smile tugging at my lips gives me away.

He turns to face me, leaning against the counter with an easy confidence that makes my heart skip a beat. "You're not questioning this one," he says softly, his gaze locking onto mine.

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. "Don't get cocky."

"It's not cocky if it's true."

Before I can come up with a retort, he turns back to the stove, focusing on whatever concoction he's decided to throw together. I watch him in silence for a moment, my thoughts drifting to the island and how different things felt there.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks without turning around, his voice breaking through the quiet.

"Just... everything," I admit, my fingers playing with the hem of my sleeve. "It's a lot to process."

He glances over his shoulder, his expression softening. "I know. We don't have to figure it all out right now, you know. One thing at a time, remember?"

I nod, grateful for his understanding.

By the time he finishes cooking, the smell of garlic and spices has filled the apartment, and I have to admit, it actually smells... good.

"Alright," he says, placing two plates on the table with a flourish. "Your gourmet meal, courtesy of Chef Wilde."

I laugh as I sit down, eyeing the dish in front of me. "I'm impressed. This might actually be edible."

"Don't sound so surprised," he says, sitting across from me. "I told you I've got skills."

We eat in comfortable silence at first, and for a moment, it feels like nothing has changed—that we're still on the island, sharing stolen moments of peace. But then I catch his gaze lingering on me, and the weight of everything crashes back down.

"What?" I ask, setting my fork down.

He hesitates, then leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. His eyes, sharp and knowing, catch mine and hold them captive. "You know," he says lightly, though there's a distinct edge beneath the teasing tone, "I'm not going anywhere. So, you'd better get used to me."

I swallow, my cheeks heating against my will. "Is that supposed to be a threat?" I try to sound unimpressed, but my voice comes out softer than I'd intended.

He grins, leaning back slightly in his chair, but his gaze doesn't waver. "Nope. Just a fact."

I look down at my plate, pretending to fiddle with the last bite of food. "You're awfully sure of yourself."

"Because I know you," he says simply. "You push people away, Arden. But it's not going to work with me. You can try all you want, but I'm not going anywhere."

My fork freezes mid-air, and I glance up sharply. "I don't push people away."

He raises a single brow, his expression saying otherwise. I hate how easily he sees through me, how quickly he dismantles every defense I've spent years perfecting. I open my mouth to argue, but his grin widens, like he knows he's won.

"See?" he says, leaning closer again. "Even now, you're thinking of how to shut me down."

"Maybe because you're so damn annoying," I say half-heartedly.

His grin softens into something warmer, something that makes my chest feel tight. "Yeah, I've heard that one before." His hand lifts, so casually it takes me a moment to realize what he's doing until his thumb brushes over the heat blooming in my cheeks. "But you're blushing, so I must be doing something right."

The casual touch makes my breath hitch, and I pull back instinctively, my pulse racing. "Stop doing that."

"Doing what?" His voice drops, low and teasing, but there's something sincere beneath it. "Telling the truth? Touching you? Or making you blush?"

"All of it," I mutter, but it sounds unconvincing even to my ears. My cheeks are hotter than ever now, and I can't meet his gaze.

"Too bad," he says softly, and there's no mistaking the determination in his tone. "I'm yours Arden, so do with me what you want but I'm not walking away."

The words hang in the air between us, and for a moment, I don't know what to say. I should laugh it off or tell him he's wrong, but the way he's looking at me—so steady, so unwavering—makes it impossible.

Instead, I stand abruptly, grabbing our plates. "Well, I can at least get rid of the dirty dishes," I mumble, heading to the sink.

"Running away again?" he calls after me, his voice light but tinged with amusement.

I grit my teeth, ignoring him as I turn on the water. But even as I focus on scrubbing the plates, I can feel his gaze on me, steady and unrelenting. He's right—I do push people away. It's easier that way, safer. And yet, no matter how much I try, Jason doesn't budge.

The thought terrifies me as much as it comforts me.