The next thing she knew, she was lying back. One arm behind her head, the other over her stomach. The moonlight spilling across her bare legs. The sound whispering against the glass.
And for a moment—
Just one—
She pretended it was hers.
The house. The bed. The view.
Him.
And then her eyes got heavy.
Heavier.
Until the thoughts blurred and the want faded and all that remained was the slow, rhythmic pull of the sound and the feeling of sinking deeper into a bed that didn’t belong to her.
Not yet.
31
Almost Yours
Clairewokejustpast9:30.
The other half of the bed was cold.
She blinked, adjusting to the soft morning light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. No sounds. No movement. Just the empty imprint of him on the pillow beside her.
She waited a few minutes, listening for any trace of him.
Nothing.
Her bare feet finally touched the cold tile, a soft contrast to the warmth she’d just left. She padded across the floor, her body still aching in the best ways from the night before, heading for the bathroom—but stopped short at the sink.
There, tucked neatly into the corner of the mirror, was a folded note.
She pulled it free and read:
Good morning beautiful,
I had to be at the new office by 8:00. You were sleeping, and I didn’t want to wake you.
I’ll be done by 12:30. See you soon.
—Jax
She stared at the words like they held more meaning than ink should be allowed. Something about how he said it—how simple, how thoughtful—sank a little too deep into her chest.
Brushing her teeth, she caught herself glancing at the note again. Re-reading it like it might change. Like it might suddenly say stay forever.
The water for the shower was already warming as she turned the handle. She stepped into the glass enclosure, letting the heat pour over her, washing away the sleep but not the weight of the way last night still clung to her.
And it clung.
Every second of it replayed behind her eyes.
The way he looked at her in the elevator.
