Grabbing another pastry from the bag, I pop it into my mouth. “So good.”
“So,” she murmurs. Strands of hair, pulled away from her ponytail, whip around her face. “You walk me home, you buy me lunch….,”
The pastry turns to dust in my mouth.
“I know,” she says quietly. Her eyes are on my face. “Casual only, right?”
Slowly, I nod.
Casual only.
9
Emmy
Casual only.
Ben picks me up from work after every shift. He graduates from waiting outside to sitting at the bar, listening to the music as he watches me work and acts as our unofficial glass collector.
He walks me to my door, and every time, I ask if he’ll come inside.
Every time, he says yes.
It doesn’t feel casual. I’m not sure that it ever did. But neither of us voice it, even as weeks pass.
“I’ve never been to your place,” I murmur one night, as we’re walking home.
His hand tightens in mine. “Emmy—,”
“I know,” I grumble, before he can say it. “Casual only.”
I’m beginning to hate that phrase.
“It’s not—,” Ben stops. Sighs. “We can go to my place. It’s not as nice as yours, though.”
“We can?” I grin up at him, and he taps my nose.
“You’re lethal,” he mutters, but he’s smiling. “Yes, we can. It’s not far from here.”
He’s only a few streets away from me, in a fancy building on a street that faces the ocean. I glance up at the balconies above our heads as he pushes in the security code for the double doors, my tone teasing. “If you tell me you’ve had a balcony to watch the sunrise on all this time, we might have our first argument.”
“I won’t tell you, then.”
I don’t understand what he means about my apartment being nicer. This building isnice. The floors are clean and well-maintained, and he has an elevator.
And, apparently, a damn balcony.
It’s only when he pushes the door open that I see what he means. I step past Ben as he holds the door open.
The open-plan space in front of me… is empty.
Across from me, a raised bed is lined up in view of the double-fronted windows that face out to the water. A small, empty table sits beside it. Not voicing the thoughts running through my head, I force myself to glance accusingly at Ben as I move across to look at the blue stretch of open water that glimmers in the dawn light. “You’ve been holding out on me.”
The view is stunning.
He’s leaning against the door, watching me. And he looks… uncomfortable. “Sorry.”
Aside from the bed, there’s nothing else here. Not a couch. Not a rug. Not a single lamp. Only the bare bulb overhead, and the bed.
