The admission landed heavier than denial would have.”That doesn’t make this easier,” she said quietly.
“No,” he agreed. “It doesn’t.”
Silence settled again, thicker now, charged with everything neither of them was saying.Her gaze betrayed her, drifting to his mouth before she could stop it. She remembered the weight of him, the way he’d made her feel seen and claimed all atonce.
He saw the look.
The air between them tightened, electric and dangerous. He straightened, pushing back from the counter, taking one slow step closer. Not touching. Never touching.
“Sera,” he said softly.
Her name in his voice did something reckless to her resolve.For a suspended moment, the world narrowed to the space between them. To the knowledge that one step, one breath, would undo everything she’d just fought to articulate.
She stood abruptly, chair legs scraping softly against the floor. “I should go.”
He moved then, closing the distance until they stood inches apart. His hand lifted, hovering near her face, stopping just short of contact. The restraint in that halted motion nearly brokeher.
For one terrible, tempting heartbeat, she thought he might kissher.
Thought she might lethim.
“No,” she whispered, the word tearing out of her. “We can’t.”
His jaw flexed. He lowered his hand slowly. “You’re right,” hesaid.
The regret in his voice nearly undid her. Every small sound seemed amplified. The low hum of the refrigerator. The faint tick of cooling metal as the stove settled. The soft shift of fabric when he moved, too close, too aware.
She became suddenly conscious of practicalities, of the real world intruding no matter how much she wanted to stay suspended in this moment. Her phone. She’d left it at work the night before,locked in her desk drawer per protocol, because he’d insisted on it. Security wasn’t negotiable, not for him, not ever. At the time, it seemed reasonable. Necessary. Now it felt like another reminder of exactly who he was and what rules governed hislife.
“Can you call me an Uber?” she asked quietly, needing to put distance between them before she lost her resolve.
He shook his head immediately, his gaze holding hers for a beat longer. “No.” One word, decisive. “I’ll take you home. Give me your address.”There was no invitation in it, no room for negotiation. Just calm authority settling the matter as if it had already been decided.
The relief startled her, even as she told herself it shouldn’t. This, at least, appeared contained. Managed. Safer than handing her off to the city while everything inside her was stillraw.
The drive to her apartment was quiet, heavy with everything unsaid.
Silence filled the car in layers rather than absence. The low rush of tires over pavement. The faint click of the turn signal. The attention with which he navigated traffic, as if even this were something that required full consideration and discipline. Sera kept her gaze forward, aware of how small movements became magnified in a containedspace. The closeness pressed in on her, not intimate but inescapable, areminder that distance had to be chosen now rather than assumed.
She sensed him beside her without looking. The heat of his presence. The careful way he kept both hands on the wheel, posture relaxed but guarded, as though any other position might say too much. It struck her that this was how he handled everything dangerous. Not by pretending it didn’t exist, but by manipulating every variable he could reach.
She wondered, not for the first time, how many things in his life were managed this way. How often he chose restraint over want. The thought tightened something in her chest, sharp and unwelcome, and she pushed it aside, focusing instead on the city sliding past the windows, on the knowledge that this silence was necessary even if ithurt.
He didn’t reach forher.
He didn’t offer comfort or apology.
That restraint hurt more than any awkward attempt to soften what they’d done. It told her he understood exactly how precarious this was. That he respected her enough not to blur lines further.
She replayed the kitchen scene in her mind despite herself. His calm. His listening. The way he hadn’t tried to argueher logic away. The way that almost-kiss still echoed through her body like an unanswered question.
By the time they pulled up outside her apartment building, her resolve had hardened again, brittle but intact. He didn’t fill the silence. That restraint told her how seriously he took what they’d just ended.
He cut the engine and sat for a moment, hands resting on the wheel, gaze forward. Not rushing her. Not prompting. Giving her space to step back into her life on her own terms.
“Thank you,” she said finally, the words quiet.
He inclined his head a fraction, eyes still forward. “You did the right thing,” he replied. Not reassurance. Not comfort. Astatement grounded in respect.
