“To my mom. About me.”
I glance over. She’s staring straight ahead, her grip tight on the foil-wrapped plate in her lap. “I know.”
“So why did you?”
“Because it was true.”
She doesn’t look at me, but I hear the slow exhaleshe tries to hide. For a second, the mask slips, her eyes glistening in the reflection of passing light, and something in me clenches tight. She doesn’t believe me, but she wants to. I can see it in the way her fingers loosen on the plate and how her shoulders drop just a little. Her lips part like she might askwhat’s true, but she stops herself at the last second. And that quiet wrecks me more than if she’d said anything at all. I want to tell her she’s wrong about herself. That I see her, even when she’s hiding. But I don’t because I already know the second I let those words out, there’s no taking them back.
The rest of the drive passes in silence. Her fingers stay curled around the foil-wrapped pie, knuckles white, jaw set like she’s afraid that if she opens her mouth, she’ll give something away. When I pull into a spot in front of her apartment, she exhales like she’s been holding her breath the whole way. She presses her thumb into her palm, the same grounding trick I use when my nerves spike.
“Thanks for going along with the whole thing.”
“Wasn’t exactly a hardship.”
That earns a small laugh, breathy and thin. “You didn’t have to play it so well.”
“Who said I was playing?”
The words hang between us, too honest to take back. She looks at me, eyes wide, the soft light from the streetlamp catching the flecks of gold in them. And suddenly, I’m done pretending the air between us isn’t electric.
“I should go.” She unbuckles her seat belt slowly, the sound impossibly loud in the quiet car.
I nod, but I don’t move. “I’ll walk you up.”
She freezes for half a second—just long enough for the air between us to tighten—like she wasn’t expecting that. Her lips part as if she’s about to protest, but she doesn’t. She just opens the door and steps into the cool night air, the hem of her blouse fluttering in the faint breeze.
I circle the car and fall into step beside her. The street is quiet except for the faint hum of streetlights and the rhythmic click of her heels on the pavement. Her hand swings close enough to mine that my fingers itch with the urge to touch her. Just once. Just to see if she’d shatter or lean in. Each sound feels too loud, too intimate. Neither of us speaks. We don’t have to. The air between us hums with everything we’re trying not to say. At the door to her building, she stops in front of the card reader, digging through her bag for the fob. I see it glint in her hand just before she drops it.
“Shit.” She bends to pick it up, but I’m already there. Our hands brush in the half-light, and the contact hits like static—sharp and everywhere at once.
Heat flares across my palm so fast it feels like my body recognizes her before my brain can catch up.
“Got it,” she murmurs, swiping the fob against the reader. The soft beep feels too loud in the quiet.
When the lock clicks open, I catch the edge of the door before it swings shut. “Ladies first.”
“You really don’t quit, do you?” Her lips twitch like she wants to smile but refuses to.
“Not when it comes to you.”
The words slip out before I can stop them, and she shakes her head like she’s pretending not to hear. Two flights of stairs pass faster than they should. The tension follows us the whole way—our steps out of sync, breaths catching for reasons that have nothing to do with the climb. At her floor, she slows. Her hand trembles as she fits the key into her apartment lock.
“This is it,” she says quietly, without turning. Her voice wavers, a tremor that comes from holding too much inside. Her fingers tighten around the keys, that tiny tell she gets when her anxiety starts spiraling.
I move closer before I can stop myself, the warmth of her body pulling me in. “You sure you want me to go?”
“That’s probably a good idea.”
“Probably,” I echo, my voice low. “But I’m not good at doing what I should do.”
She turns then, eyes flicking to mine. One breath. Two. That’s all it takes for the distance between us to disappear.
I reach out, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. For half a second, she hesitates, but then leans in. It’s not a decision; it’s instinct. I meet her halfway, stopping a breath short.
The air between us is so charged it feels alive. She blinks up at me, pupils wide, chest rising fast. Neither of us moves, suspended in the pull of waiting for theother to cross that last inch. I should walk away. I know I should. But she tilts her chin the smallest bit higher, and that’s all it takes.
Every muscle in my body goes tight, holding on to the last shred of restraint I’ve got. It won’t last long. Not with her this close. I keep still, giving her the space to come to me. When her fingers brush the side of my neck, it’s barely a touch, but it detonates something so dangerous inside me I forget to breathe.
