A small laugh escapes me. "It was Dad's idea, actually. We'd eat Frosted Flakes together in mugs like it was some covert operation. Mom never knew—it was our thing."

Something unreadable crosses Nate's face as he looks down, stirring milk with his stolen spoon. "Your dad was one of the best people I knew."

The words hang heavy between us, and I know we've stumbled into a moment we've been dancing around. I try to redirect.

"I'm sorry," I say softly, setting down the mug. "For how I acted the other day. After..." His name sticks in my throat like broken glass. "You were just trying to help, and I⁠⁠—"

"Stop," he interrupts, voice gentler than I expect. "You don't have to apologize. If anyone should be apologizing for fucking things up, it's me."

Confusion knots in my chest. "For what?"

He exhales roughly, running a hand through his hair. "For not being there for you and Ol when I should have been. Your dad... he was more of a father to me than mine ever was. But I—" His voice catches, revealing a glimpse of the pain he's buried so deep.

"It's okay." I whisper.

We stand suspended in this moment, years of unspoken words filling the air between us. His eyes lock onto mine, and the kitchen shrinks until there's nothing but us. His fingers brush mine, sending sparks racing up my arm. The mug in my hands feels like an anchor keeping me from floating away.

"I'll never forgive myself for missing the funeral. And I don't expect you to forgive me for⁠⁠—"

"I do,” I cut him off. "Forgive you. So how about this—a clean slate?” I manage, trying to steady my racing pulse. "I think it's time we both just move forward, with everything."

He closes the distance between us. His hand grazes my cheek as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, the simple gesture setting every nerve ending alight.

"I like the sound of that plan."

The air feels thin, like we're standing on a mountaintop instead of in the kitchen at 2 AM. His eyes study me with such tenderness it makes me feel raw, exposed. They're the kind of eyes you could drown in, and I always have. Something about him makes me feel more alive, less lost, and that terrifies me as much as it thrills me.

"Speaking of plans," he murmurs, gaze flickering to my lips again, lingering there just long enough to make my pulse quicken. "Want to come out on the boat with me?"

I swallow hard because the thought of being alone, with Nate, in the middle of the ocean, scares the living shit out of me. My throat is suddenly desert dry.

"I... I have plans."

"You have plans?" His smile turns teasing as he steps closer, reducing the space between us to something dangerous.