Chapter 32 — Learning the Rhythm
The first morning after the kiss felt… normal.
Not awkward. Not explosive. Just quietly different—like a room rearranged overnight where nothing was missing, but everything felt easier to move through.
Kiera woke before her alarm and lay still, listening. The penthouse breathed around her—distant traffic, the low hum of the refrigerator, Leo's faint snore from down the hall.
No panic.
No second-guessing.
Just a steady calm she was learning to trust.
When she stepped into the kitchen, Kade was already there, sleeves rolled up, coffee brewing. He looked up and smiled—no tension, no question.
"Good morning," he said.
"Good morning," she replied.
Their eyes held for a second longer than usual.
Then Leo barreled in, killing the moment with the enthusiasm only a child could muster. "Daddy! I had a dream I was a dragon!"
Kade laughed. "Were you a friendly dragon?"
"No," Leo said proudly. "I was very scary."
Kiera smiled as she poured juice. Life had a way of continuing, no matter how big the emotional moments were.
After breakfast, Kade walked Kiera to the door as she prepared to leave for school.
"I'll pick you up later," he said. "Unless you want to come back on your own."
"I'll text you," she replied. "I like having the choice."
He nodded. "Me too."
Before she left, he paused. "Kiera?"
"Yes?"
"Last night didn't change anything you don't want it to," he said. "I just want you to know that."
Her chest warmed. "It changed something good."
She stepped out before courage could fail her.
School felt different.
Not easier—but steadier.
When someone glanced at her phone or whispered, it didn't send her spiraling. She reminded herself: I'm allowed to exist without explanation.
At lunch, the same girl from before slid into the seat across from her.
"Can I ask you something?" she said.
Kiera nodded cautiously.
"How do you do it?" the girl asked. "The not-crumbling thing."
Kiera thought for a moment. "I still crumble. I just don't disappear anymore."
The girl smiled. "I like that."
So did Kiera.
That evening, Kade came home earlier than expected.
He found Kiera curled up on the couch, laptop open, notes spread around her.
"Studying?" he asked.
"Trying," she replied. "My brain is tired."
He sat beside her. "Break?"
She hesitated, then closed the laptop. "Okay."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment.
"I spoke to the board today," Kade said. "They're moving on."
"Are you?" she asked gently.
He considered. "I think so. I'm not angry anymore."
"That's big," she said.
"It is," he agreed. "Anger kept me busy. Letting it go feels… strange."
She shifted, then rested her head against his shoulder without asking. The ease of it surprised them both.
He wrapped his arm around her automatically—then paused.
She smiled faintly. "It's okay."
They stayed like that, breathing together, the world quieting around them.
"Kade," she said softly, "I'm scared of losing myself in this."
He tightened his arm just slightly. "Then we keep checking in. You don't belong to me. You're choosing me."
She closed her eyes. "That helps."
Later, they took Leo out for ice cream.
It was messy and loud and ordinary. Someone recognized Kade and asked for a photo. He agreed politely, keeping the moment brief. Kiera stood a few steps back, unnoticed—and strangely okay with that.
On the walk home, Leo skipped ahead, singing off-key.
"I don't feel like I'm hiding anymore," Kiera said quietly.
"You're not," Kade replied. "You're just… living."
She smiled. "I like this rhythm."
"So do I," he said.
At the door, before they went inside, he stopped her gently.
"Can I kiss you?" he asked.
Her heart fluttered—but this time, she didn't hesitate. "Yes."
The kiss was warmer than the first. Still gentle. Still unhurried. But real.
When they pulled apart, she laughed softly. "That one felt different."
He smiled. "Progress?"
"Progress," she agreed.
That night, Kiera wrote in her journal:
Love doesn't arrive like a rescue. It shows up as consistency. As choice. As someone asking before they touch your heart.
She closed the book and turned off the light.
Across the hall, Kade did the same.
They weren't healed.
They weren't perfect.
But they were learning the rhythm of something honest—step by step, breath by breath.
And for the first time, that felt like enough.