At the door, I pull it open and tip my head. “After you, milady.”
“Why, thank you, kind sir.” She gives a mock curtsy, laughing softly, a sound that curls around my ribs and refuses to let go.
The interior walls share the same boring cream color as all the apartments here, but she makes it better. She bypasses the elevator without a second thought, pressing the door to the stairwell open with her shoulder.
“It’s only two flights.”
“Good,” I tell her, following close behind. “I’m not sure I’d survive being that close to you again in a box that small.”
Her head tilts, a smirk playing on her lips. “That right?”
“Elevators make me nervous.”
“Since when?”
“Since you started getting in them with me.”
She laughs, the sound echoing off the concrete.
Our footsteps reverberate through the stairwell—hers quick, mine steady behind her. Every few steps, she glances over her shoulder, not even trying to be subtle, like she’s checking to make sure I haven’t disappeared. Each time she does, her lips twitch as if she’s fighting a smile.
“You worried I’ll get lost?”
She doesn’t turn around this time, but her voice floats back, teasing. “You look like a flight risk.”
“Only when I’m not chasing something I want.”
The hallway hums under fluorescent lights when we reach the second floor. The carpet is worn and patterned like it’s seen better days. She stops at a door near the end, digging through her bag. The doormat saysHope You Like Dogs. Its corners are frayed, cheerful, and completely her.
“Don’t judge the mat. I don’t even have a dog, but my mom bought it.”
“I wasn’t judging,” I say, leaning against the wall. “Just trying to figure out what kind of dog I’m supposed to like.”
Her smile breaks free, soft and unguarded. “The kind that sheds. Everywhere.”
“So, basically chaos.”
“Exactly.” Her smile breaks free, unguarded. “Story of my life.”
The words hang there, softer than she means them to. Before I can find something to say, she fishes out her keys. Her fingers shake just a little, the metal clicking in the quiet hall.
I step closer before I can talk myself out of it. “Need help?”
“No, I’ve got it.” Her voice wavers, and the tremor in it hits me harder than it should.
The key slips again, a metallic scrape in the quiet hall, and I catch the faint shake in her hand before my body moves on instinct, my fingers closing over hers. Her skin is cool from the rain, and the contact steals every coherent thought I’ve ever had. She goes still as if she can’t decide whether to pull away or lean in.
“Is this okay?”
She nods once, the pulse in her throat beating so visibly it feels like something I could trace with my mouth if I were reckless enough. The world narrows until there’s nothing but the scent of her—vanilla and storm air—and the heat rising between us. Her lashes lift, catching the light, and suddenly, the hallway feels too small to hold what’s happening. I can see the soft pink of her mouth when she swallows, and every part of me aches to close the space that still exists between us.
I lean in just enough for her breath to brush my chin, and for a suspended moment, I’m certain she’s going to meet me halfway. Her eyes flick to my mouth and back again, a silent question neither of us knows how to answer. Her breath catches, and for a split second, it feels like she stops time. Then, the key slides home with a sharp click, the sound shattering everything fragile that has gathered between us. She startles first, a quiet laugh slipping out as if she feels embarrassed about being caught feeling something too real.
“Sorry,” she murmurs as she turns the knob. “It’s a mess.”
“Messy is fine.” My voice comes out lower than I intend, rough with everything I’m trying not to say. “Means you live here.”
Her lips curve into a sincere smile that starts at her eyes and ends somewhere inside me. “You say that like it’s a good thing.”
