Chapter 9: Surrender in the Silence
The drive back was quiet, but not in an uncomfortable way.
The kind of silence where your heart speaks louder than words.
Jonas had offered to drive me home after the long day, and I hadn't hesitated to say yes.
Something about his presence had become calming—steady.
Like the hum of the engine, like the way his fingers tapped against the steering wheel in rhythm with the music on the radio.
I watched him from the corner of my eye. The way his jaw tensed slightly when he focused.
How his knuckles moved as he shifted gears.
How his profile looked carved by purpose.
And God, the way he smelled. Like cedar and something uniquely his.
"You okay?" he asked, not taking his eyes off the road.
I nodded, then exhaled. "I'm glad you're here."
He turned his head just enough for a fleeting smile. "So am I."
By the time we reached my place, my heart was thundering. I invited him in with a casualness I didn't feel.
"Coffee?" I offered.
"Always."
The apartment was dim, lit only by a floor lamp and the fading orange of the setting sun.
I moved to the kitchen, but he followed, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed.
"You always brew coffee this late?" he teased.
"Only for very important people," I said, pouring water into the kettle, trying to ignore the flutter in my stomach.
Our fingers brushed when I handed him the mug.
Electricity. Real and raw.
I looked up, and he was already watching me.
"Lina," he said, voice low. Almost reverent.
I didn't resist when he stepped closer, lifting my chin with two fingers.
I felt the warmth of his body before he even touched me fully.
His hand came to rest on my waist as if it belonged there.
"I missed you," I whispered, and immediately felt a rush of vulnerability flood my chest.
His lips brushed mine, just enough to taste the promise.
And then, the chair I was leaning on gave a soft creak—and snapped.
We crashed to the floor in a tangle of limbs and laughter.
Jonas was quick to check if I was okay, but the ridiculousness of the moment had us both chuckling.
"Smooth," I muttered, trying to suppress a grin.
"Hey, at least now I know how to sweep you off your feet," he replied with a wink.
I swatted his arm, but my cheeks burned.
We didn't get up immediately. Instead, I curled into his chest, the smell of him grounding me, the feel of his arms around me making me forget every bad thing I'd endured.
He held me like I was something precious.
Not broken. Not fragile. Just… me.
He began to kiss me again—soft, then deeper.
Fingers running up my back, slipping into my hair.
His mouth moved along my jaw, my neck, slow, reverent.
Every kiss felt like a vow.
Every touch rewrote what I thought I knew about safety.
I arched into him, feeling him respond, feeling the heat between us rise.
He whispered something low, something teasing that made me laugh and blush, and then he kissed the smile right off my lips.
We stayed on the floor, wrapped around each other, breaths mingling.
And that night, I didn't feel like a survivor.
I felt alive.