After hot chocolate, we took the subway home.
Lucia swung her legs back and forth on the seat beside me, her small hands gripping the paper bag with what was left of her ice-cream cone. She had chocolate on her face, and I didn’t bother wiping it off. It was late. She was tired. Isabel would probably kill me for getting her sugared up before bed, but I figured that was a problem for future Valentina.
Honestly, future Valentina had a lot of problems to handle already, so what was one more?
I leaned my head back against the grimy subway window, watching the lights blur as we moved. Lucia hummed softly beside me—some tune I couldn’t quite place. I wondered if it was one of those cartoons she was always talking about—the ones I pretended to know but secretly Googled later so I didn’t look completely clueless.
Just as the doors were about to close, I saw him.
Marco.
Of course.
He loosened his tie and kept his eyes trained on the ground.
There was no running from him—not when he came up directly beside me. Still, he didn’t notice me, which was weird, because healwaysdid.
He didn’t sit. Didn’t even say hi. He just stood there, his hand gripping the bar above him. His body was close enough to block out the space around me.
Lucia noticed him. She craned her neck, peering up at him with bright eyes.
Marco finally glanced down—first at Lucia, then at me. And—surprise, surprise—he didn’t smile. Honestly, I was starting to wonder if he even knew how.
He was definitely judging me. I could see the wheels turning behind those annoyingly blue eyes. He probably thought Lucia was mine; that I was just another irresponsible twenty-something mom hauling her kid around the city way too late, high on sugar, ignoring all the responsible adult rules I’d clearly never bothered to learn.
I tried to focus on literally anything else—the grimy windows, the worn-out ads plastered on the subway walls, even the ancient gum on the floor. But no such luck.
It was impossible to ignore Marco.
It annoyed me how familiar he was becoming. Not just the little details about him, but the fact he kept showing up. It was one thing to brush off someone who hovered occasionally, but Marco? He was everywhere, sliding into my disasters like it was his second job. First at the park, pulling me out of that ridiculous standoff with Sasha, then keeping Max off my back.
I knew he wasn’t doing any of it because he cared. Men like Marco didn’t help women like me out of kindness. It was always obligation, business, or sheer annoyance. But lately, every time something went sideways, he was there, reluctant, always acting as if it pained him to help. And I was starting to realize I liked it far more than I should.
My gaze lifted again, sneaking another glance at him. He was tired. Or maybe annoyed. Possibly both. But even annoyed looked good on Marco. Better than it had any right to.
Lucia let out a huge yawn and slumped into my arm like a sleepy little doll. “Are we almost there?”
“Almost,” I murmured softly, brushing the messy curls out of her eyes, my fingers gentle against her forehead. She sighed contentedly, snuggling even closer.
Marco shifted slightly, adjusting his grip on the rail. I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination, but I could feel his gaze lingering.
Watching.
Judging.
He smelled good, like cedar and smoke. It was something that was impossible not to notice when everyone else on the subway smelled like sweat.
I told myself I didn’t notice, but who was I kidding? I noticed everything. The way his fingers kept adjusting their grip on the rail. The precise cut of his suit, expensive and tailored in a way that highlighted just how annoyingly fit he was. The faint throb of his pulse at his throat.
When my stop came I stood quickly, trying not to overthink every step I took, and suddenly, I found myself directly beneath his raised arm. He shifted, his hand dropping instinctively to hover at the small of my back.
It was barely a touch, maybe an instinctive reflex, but it was enough to set every nerve ending in my body on edge. Warmth rushed up my spine, and my breath caught in my throat.
Neither of us moved away.
He stood still, but his fingers lightly grazed the fabric of my shirt.
And just as abruptly as it happened, he pulled away, stepping aside to let me pass.
