"Rest," I tell her instead. "We're almost there."
She nods, eyes drifting closed again.
Too young. Too new. Too complicated. The warnings cycle through my mind even as I find myself glancing at her again, memorizing the curve of her cheek, the sweep of her lashes.
I'm in trouble.
In the span of a single day, Gloria Sullivan has somehow bypassed all my barriers, all my rational objections. She's slipped beneath my skin, into my thoughts, making me feel things I've kept dormant for years.
We arrive at my house, a modest two-story at the edge of town, lights off except for the porch I left on for Emma's return tomorrow. I park and turn to wake Gloria, only to find her already watching me, eyes soft with something I can't name.
"You're thinking too loudly," she says quietly.
I almost smile. "Habit."
"What are you thinking about?"
The honest answer stays locked behind my teeth. Instead, I say, "Food. You need protein."
She studies me for a moment, like she knows there's more, but doesn't push. "Lead the way, then."
As we walk to the front door, snow crunching beneath our feet, I'm hyperaware of her beside me, of the careful distance I maintain, of the warmth I feel despite the cold night air, of the way this simple act of bringing her to my home feels significant.
"Nice house," she comments as I unlock the door.
"It works for us," I reply, flipping on lights, revealing the lived-in comfort of a home shared with a pre-teen: Emma's boots by the door, her science project on the dining table, books stacked on every surface.
Gloria takes it all in, a small smile playing on her lips. "It feels like you. Solid. Practical. But with touches of magic."
I follow her gaze to Emma's dragon drawings pinned to the refrigerator, the fairy lights strung around her bedroom door upstairs, visible from the entryway.
"That's all Emma," I say, leading Gloria to the kitchen. "She's the magic. I'm just the solid part."
Gloria shakes her head slightly. "I think there's more magic in you than you admit, Nathan Cross."
I turn to the refrigerator, needing the distance, the normality of practical tasks. "Sit. I'll make you something to eat."
She obeys, settling at the kitchen island, watching me with curious eyes as I move efficiently around my kitchen. This, at least, is familiar territory. Taking care of someone, meeting basic needs, solving practical problems.
It's the other hunger, the one that has nothing to do with food, that I don't know how to address.
Chapter 5 – Gloria
Nathan returns me home after making sure I've eaten properly. The food and his calm presence have steadied me, but something else entirely has my pulse racing now.
The tension in his truck during the drive back was palpable, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, my breath fogging the window as I pretended to look at the snow-covered streets instead of stealing glances at his profile.
Neither of us spoke, but the silence hummed with everything unsaid.
Now we stand in my darkened apartment, the only light coming from a small lamp I left on earlier. Nathan takes a step toward the door, ever responsible. "You should rest. I'll check on you tomorrow."
"Don't go," I say, the words escaping before I can overthink them. I reach out, fingers brushing his sleeve, a touch so light it barely registers, yet it freezes us both in place.
His eyes meet mine, dark and unreadable in the dim light. "Gloria..."
Just my name, but the low and rough way he says it, vibrating through the quiet apartment, makes something flutter low in my stomach. I step closer, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body, to smell the faint traces of smoke and soap that cling to him.
"I'm not tired anymore," I murmur, my fingers trailing from his sleeve to his wrist, where I can feel his pulse hammering beneath warm skin.
