I stared at the message until the letters blurred.My thumb hovered over the keyboard.
A simple yes would be harmless.That was the lie my brain offered.
Because nothing with Dante was harmless.Not now.Not ever.Not when he kissed me like he had been waiting years for permission to breathe again.
I set the phone face down on the counter.
My reflection in the mirror looked too awake.Eyes too bright.Mouth too full like it had been kissed into remembering what it could feel.
I leaned closer and whispered, “Get it together,” like I was talking to a suspect.
Then I went to work.Not physically—my next shift wasn’t until tomorrow—but mentally.I opened my laptop, checked emails, flagged the urgent ones, answered two that couldn’t wait.I pulled up the briefing folder I had been ignoring all week because North Carolina had hijacked my brain.
By the time evening settled, I had almost managed to push him back into the compartment I had built for him.
Almost.
My phone rang again as I reheated leftovers.
I didn’t check the screen this time.I knew.My body knew.My heartbeat told me before my brain could pretend otherwise.
It rang until voicemail.
Then it rang again ten minutes later.
And again.
I ate standing at the counter, chewing without tasting, eyes fixed on the microwave clock like it was the only thing keeping me anchored.I wasn’t ignoring him because I didn’t want to answer.
That was the part that scared me.
I was ignoring him because I did want to answer.I craved this simple connection to him.Because one conversation would turn into two.Because two would turn into late-night calls.Because Dante didn’t do anything halfway, and neither did I when I stopped pretending.
And I refused to let my life become a waiting room.I had done enough waiting in my lifetime.
Waiting for justice that didn’t come fast enough.Waiting for men to be who they promised they could be.Waiting for the next shoe to drop.
I wasn’t waiting anymore.
My phone buzzed on the counter.A new text.
Dante:Nita.Don’t do this.
I exhaled slowly, heat rising in my chest.My mind ran amuck with different thoughts.Don’t do what?Protect myself?Keep my boundaries?Refuse to let you rewrite the rules because you’re lonely and I’m convenient?
I stared at the message and felt that familiar tug, anger braided with something softer.Something dangerous.Something that felt really like care.
My fingers typed before I fully committed to the choice.
Then I deleted the words.Typed again.
Deleted again.Because anything I said would invite more.
And the truth was simple, even if it wasn’t easy.I didn’t want the complications of a relationship.
Not with him.Not with anyone who could make one night feel like a life-altering event.
I rinsed my plate and put it in the dishwasher with unnecessary force.Then I picked up my phone, opened his contact—yes, I still had it saved—and hovered over the block button.
