At least until my sister moved out too. Then what?
The room spun slightly when I stood up. I grabbed the empty coffee cups, needing something to do with my hands, needing to move before I said something stupid or started crying or threw up. Maybe all three.
“Well. That was unexpected.” I forced my voice to stay casual, even though talking made my head pound worse. Like my heart wasn’t hammering. Like the fluorescent kitchen light wasn’t making me want to die.
“She’s… she’s good at giving her employees flexibility.” His jaw worked, like he wanted to say something else.
I carried the cups to the kitchen, rinsed them in the sink. Watched the water swirl down the drain and tried to figure out what to say.
Tell him you’re falling for him. Just be honest.
But I’d been honest before—with Sebastian, with my parents, with the fucking SEC.
And look where that had gotten me: unemployed, publicly disgraced, and functionally homeless. And with a hangover that made me even more miserable than I'd already felt.
I dried my hands on a dish towel then turned to face him. He was still standing by the couch, watching me with that careful expression.
“So,” I said, aiming for practical. “I should probably move my stuff out of your room.”
“What? Why?”
“You’re going to need to pack up your stuff.” I shrugged like it was no big deal, like my throat wasn’t closing up. “I’ll get my stuff out of your way now, give you space to work. Plus it’s not like we need to keep sharing a bed, right? You told me to crash in your room because you weren’t here. But now you’re back, and you’ll be busy with Alex’s firm and packing and everything, so…”
He was looking at me like I’d just said something in a foreign language.
“If that’s what you want,” he said finally. His voice was quiet. Careful.
Of course it’s not what I want,I wanted to scream.I want you to tell me that you feel it too, that three weeks isn’t enough.
But I just smiled and said, “Yeah, it makes sense, right?”
“Right.” He nodded once. “I'll help you move your things.”
And that was somehow worse than if he’d argued. He was just… accepting it. Being respectful of my boundaries, not pushing back, giving me exactly what I’d asked for.
Because this was just temporary for him, a convenient arrangement while we were both here. Nothing worth fighting for.
Good. That’s good. Better to know now than get your heart broken later.
Moving my stuff took less than twenty minutes. I didn’t have much, just a mundane accumulation of clothes, books, and power cords. My hands shook slightly as I folded clothes—hangover tremors or emotions, who knew anymore?
We moved in silence, careful not to touch or make eye contact. The air between us felt fragile, like one wrong word would shatter something neither of us knew how to name.
Connor set my duffel on the couch and stepped back. His hands went to his pockets like he didn’t know what to do with them. I sat down on the couch—my bed again, I guess—and stared at the duffel bag.
You’re going to be packing anyway.
The words echoed in my head. I’d said them out loud, made them real. And I’d made it easier for him by removing myself from his space.
“I have a shift at Donnelly’s,” I said, checking my phone even though I already knew what time it was. “I should get ready.”
“Right. And I should do some grocery shopping, then get some packing supplies. Maybe head to Alex’s office.”
We stood there for a beat too long, neither of us moving.
“I’ll see you later,” I said quickly, pulling on my jacket and shoving on my shoes, because if he stood there a moment longer looking morose, I might cry. Or worse, I might ask him to stay.
Yet I couldn’t ask him to give up a job he loved… and I couldn’t get a job where he lived. Even if he wanted me, I couldn't afford to follow him.
