I smile sadly. “The best mistake I’ve ever made, probably.”
We both know what comes next. The part where we acknowledge this can’t happen again. Where we go back to our separate lives and pretend we didn’t just spend all night destroying each other in the best possible way.
“Fire escape?” I suggest, gesturing toward the window.
“Beats the walk of shame,” he agrees.
“No,” I laugh. “I meant, for the view.”
“Oh.”
We climb out together, coffee cups in hand, and sit on the metal grating and watch the sky lighten over Queens. Delivery trucks rumble past. Someone’s radio is playing NPR.
“I should go,” he says eventually.
“Yeah.”
Neither of us moves.
“I don’t do this,” he says quietly. “Stay the night with strangers. Get coffee after. Sit on fire escapes watching the sunrise.”
“Me neither,” I agree.
“But?” he presses.
“But apparently tonight we made an exception,” I reply.
He sets down his mug and turns to face me fully. “Bree. I want you to know—”
“Don’t.” I put a hand over his mouth. “Don’t make this more than it is. We had one perfect night. Let’s not ruin it by pretending it can be something else.”
He kisses my palm through my fingers, then gently moves my hand away. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right.”
So why does it feel so wrong?
I should get his number. Or his socials. Something.Anything.
But I don’t.
And neither does he.
We climb back inside. I collect my underwear, grab a blouse from my closet, and pick a pair of jeans, then I dash to the bathroom to change. When I’m presentable, I toss him his dress shirt.
He pulls it over that impressive chest and buttons it up while I pretend to be very interestedin the kitchen. Then he grabs his jacket and puts it on, erasing all traces of the man who spent the night in my bed.
He dons his shoes at the door, and pauses.
“Thank you,” he says. “For last night. For... being honest. For—” He gestures vaguely at the space between us. “All of it.”
“Back at you,” I reply, doing my best not to tear up.
One more kiss. Quick and chaste and nothing like the ones that came before. Then he’s gone, and I’m closing the door behind him with a decisive click that feels far too final.
I lean my forehead against the wood and try to catch my breath.
Well.
That happened.
