I stood too, closing the small distance between us. I bent down, resting my forehead against hers. I could feel her breath on my skin. “Perfect,” I whispered.
The slider door clicked shut behind her. I sat in the chair she’d just left. Her chair. It still held the faint warmth from her. My gaze landed on the two books on the table. Star maps. I’d almost forgotten about them.
My fingers closed around the top one. The cover was smooth. I flipped it open.
A slip of paper, tucked right at the beginning. Her neat, precise writing.
This constellation is my favorite to find. I’m available for star-gazing tours.
The note nearly slipped from my fingers. I read it again. Then again.
She’d written this earlier. Before I told her anything. She had been looking for her own place, while asking me to stay in her life.
I leaned back in the chair, holding her note. The city lights glittered in the distance. It might have taken ten years, but I finally found her.
A slow smile spread across my face. 6:15 couldn’t come soon enough.
It was Everything
Claire
Ichecked the mirror one last time, smoothing my hands down the slate grey wool of my skirt. It fit like it was made for me, hugging my hips and ending just at the knee. I’d paired it with the medium blue cashmere V-neck, and my highest heels.
My usual ponytail was gone. I’d let my hair fall to my shoulders in soft, deliberate waves. A bit of mascara, a swipe of lip gloss. I looked… different. Like me, but a version of me that had decided to try.
A nervous flutter took flight in my stomach. I knew what I was doing. This was the outfit I’d worn the first day we met, when he’d offered to show me his apartment. The skirt he’d definitely noticed, if the quick, appreciative glance he’d tried to hide that day was any indication. The memory warmed my cheeks.
I inhaled slowly, counted to four, before letting it go.
This wasn’t just dinner. This was a date. Our first official date. The thought was equal parts thrilling and terrifying.
A glance at the clock on the nightstand. 6:12. Three minutes.
I turned from my reflection, my heart beating a quick, hopeful rhythm against my ribs. It was time to go set the table.
I pulled my door shut and turned toward the living room just as Liam’s door opened down the hall.
He stepped out, his head bent as he focused on adjusting the cuff of a dark graphite-grey sweater. A crisp white collar peeked out at the neck. Dark grey trousers and sleek, sporty dress shoes completed a look that was effortlessly perfect. His hair was slightly damp, tousled in a way that looked both artful and completely unintentional.
My breath caught. He looked… irresistible. The Hot Goalie, Brooke’s nickname for him, echoed in my mind, and for the first time, I understood it completely. It wasn't just about how he looked; it was the quiet confidence, the way he owned the space around him without even trying.
He finally looked up, his gaze landing on me. His steps slowed. His eyes, that intense green, did a quick, sweeping journey from my face, down the length of my outfit, pausing for a heartbeat on my legs and heels before snapping back up to meet mine.
A slow, mischievous grin spread across his face, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. He’d been caught, and he wasn't even sorry.
"Hey," he said, his voice a little lower than usual.
His grin softened into something more thoughtful. "That's what you were wearing the first time we met."
A quick shiver traced its way down my spine. He remembered. "Well," I said, my own cheeks warming. "I thought it was appropriate. Since this is our first date."
The words hung between us, formal and suddenly making everything feel incredibly real. We just stood there for a second in the hallway, the air buzzing with a new, slightly uncomfortable awareness.
Liam finally broke the silence, clearing his throat. "Right. Well. I should, uh...let me get my cooking supplies ready."
"And I," I said, too quickly, eager for an escape, "will get started on setting the table."
I managed a dignified retreat to the dining room, the sound of his soft chuckle following me.
