My hand reaches up and grasps his wrist, trembling slightly.
I look at him.Pleading.Desperate.
He stills.His gaze drops to where my fingers clutch his wrist.
“I’ll go grab that tracksuit for you,” he says.The words rumble up his arm, an uneven vibration beneath my fingertips.
The moment he’s gone, my legs give way.I flop onto the edge of the bed.
Sinking into this cozy, oversized navy tracksuit, warmth seeps into my bones.It’s the first true ease I’ve felt all night.The soft cotton smells of laundry detergent and something subtly comforting.
Like home.
A scent that makes the hard, concrete floor of the club seem a lifetime away.I pull the sweater down over the sweatpants.I remember how Matthew had brought it over, barely looking at me.He acted like a hotel clerk delivering towels.
My hand hesitates on the doorknob.Uncertainty washes away my earlier bravado.
It’s not just the abrupt shift from intense closeness to his cool distance.
It’s everything.
James.
The café.
The mess I’ve made of things.
Taking a deep breath, I open the door.
Downstairs, warm light spills from an open doorway, accompanied by the rich aroma of fresh coffee.It calls me, promising comfort, normalcy, and maybe a brief respite.
The stairs creak softly with each step.At the base, I pause when I hear the faint clink in the quiet.I follow the sound, stepping around the corner.The kitchen is spotless, gleaming under soft lights.My eyes scan past the counters to the two white mugs and the French press sitting on the island.
Then I see him.
Matthew leans against the far counter, back to the doorway.He’s wearing the same navy sweatpants as I am, but with a simple white tank top that leaves his sculpted arms and shoulders bare.His hair is tousled.He stares out the window into the darkness, his posture relaxed but holding a hint of tension.
He turns as I enter.A stillness comes over him as his eyes settle on me.
The sight of him, so casually at home, so unexpectedly domestic, disarms me.
A warmth spreads through my chest.For a moment, the turmoil, the anger, the exhaustion simply…
Dissolve.
I just…
Stare back.
“You look…” he starts, then clears his throat.“Comfortable.It’s good to see you relaxed.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, glancing down at the oversized tracksuit.“For letting me wear it.Again.”
“You’re always welcome to anything you need here,” he says, his eyes losing their guarded edge.
His words wrap around my battered heart and my cheeks color.
“Well, that coffee smells incredible,” I say with a forced lightness, stepping toward the island.
