He answers with another loud meow that makes me laugh before it morphs into a yawn.
The scent of the apartment wraps around me as I walk farther inside, faintly of my vanilla candle and the laundry I left folded on the sofa. It’s familiar and safe, and I just breathe for a second, not taking that feeling for granted. There are so many reminders of the life I’ve built here and how lucky I’ve been. I can’t imagine living alone now that I’ve lived with Jay; there are reminders of him, of us, everywhere. And it feels… steady. Like evidence that connection doesn’t have to break me. That maybe I’m allowed to want something that feels this good.
Nick’s little paws knead into my shoulder like he knows I need the contact. Sometimes I think he senses my moods better than any human ever has. I set him down and move through the apartment, peeling off my damp sweater and heading to the bathroom.
There’s a buzz beneath my skin as I turn the shower on, steam slowly curling in the air. When the water hits my skin, it’s warm and heavy at the same time, drawing all that tension from my body as I melt into it. The sound of it drowns everything else, a steady drum against tile that lets my thoughts loosen one by one. My scalp tingles as heat spreads across my shoulders, and for the first time all day, I feel my breath go all the way down to my ribsinstead of getting stuck halfway. I close my eyes and let myself believe that everything is going to be okay.
A year ago, hell, even six months ago, a day like today would’ve broken me. I would’ve been that girl who called someone I didn’t care about just to feel something other than despair for the night. I took myself for granted so many times. When I got here, I tried to do something similar by going on dates that meant nothing, but I was desperately searching for something, anything to stop the loneliness. All I was doing was trying to forget. And the worst part is that none of it even worked. I’d come home from those dates feeling more hollow than when I’d left, peeling off nice clothes I didn’t feel like myself in and wondering why wanting to feel better only made everything ache more. I didn’t want the people I was reaching for; I just didn’t want to be alone with my own head. And admitting that now makes something inside me pinch with both shame and relief.
Because then something happened. Jay became my friend, and he cared. He never asked me to talk, he’d just bring me iced tea, cook me dinners, and listen when I talked about random shit. He made space for me to exist in all my flaws. Somewhere along the way, that started to heal the parts I always thought were unfixable. Somewhere along the way, I felt more myself again, definitely not perfect, but still me. It was slow in the way sunlight creeps across a room, touching everything before you even realize. It was the quiet nights working at the same table, his shoulder brushing mine when he reached for something, him listening to me rant about classes like every word was interesting. It was him showing up, again and again, without me having to ask. And somehow, all those tiny moments stitched me back together in places I didn’t even know were torn.
The idea of telling him how I feel doesn’t terrify me. Probably because he’s never asked for anything from me. He didn’t need me to be better, funnier, or easier to love; he just let me beme, and he’ll never know how much that means. So telling him as much feels inevitable. I just hope and pray that tomorrow I keep the same courage to say it out loud. It’s strange—wanting someone and not feeling like I’m bracing for impact. Wanting him feels steady, like stepping into sunlight after a long winter. I’ve never told anyone how I feel without fear chewing at me, but with him, it almost feels like breathing. Like something I’m supposed to do.
By the time I step out of the shower, my skin is flushed, but my mind is calm and focused on seeing him tomorrow. Slipping into one of his hoodies that still smells like him, I pull my hair into a loose braid and let the calm wash over me as I settle on the sofa. His scent clings to the fabric—that mix of cedarwood and detergent. I tug the hoodie tighter around me and feel something flutter low in my stomach. I sleep better in his clothes. Hell, I sleep better wrapped around him. I’ve never admitted that to anyone, not even myself, until this moment, but it’s the truth.
Nick sees that as his opportunity to join me, and I snuggle him closer.
Pulling out my phone, I snap a picture and send it to Jay with an apology for being quiet today. My thumb hovers over the send button for a full second, my heart thudding harder than it should for something so small. I imagine him seeing it, imagine the tiny smile he gets when he reads something from me, the one that softens his whole face. I imagine him thinking of me right now, the same way I’m thinking of him. I could call him, but I know I’ll end up blurting something I’d rather say in person. The picture will have to do.
Then tomorrow, he’s all mine.
Chapter forty-nine
Jay
WhenIgetbackto my hotel room, my belly is full of takeout, and I’m beat from traveling so early this morning. I drop my keys on the desk, plug my phone in, and the screen lights up almost immediately with a notification.
Hudson
Dude, you need to tell Liv about California.
I stare at it for a beat, thumb hovering before I type back.
Jay
I will, when I’m home tomorrow. There’s still nothing to tell right now.
That much is true. Cole and Kate might’ve sounded enthusiastic today, but until something’s official, I can’t let myself run with it. I’ve been here before, thinking I’m close, already seeing my name attached to something, only for the rug to get pulled out from under me. Hope is dangerous that way.
Still, I can’t help it. The interview felt good, and my gut is only giving positive feelings.
Bringing up Liv’s messages, I check to see if she’s replied to the one I sent earlier, and the second I do, the typing bubbles appear.
Liv
Hey, sorry I’ve been crazy busy today and I’m exhausted. I hope work was okay. Nick and I miss you xx
She sends a picture, curled on the couch in one of my old sweatshirts, the kitten sprawled across her chest. Her blue eyes are rimmed with tired shadows, but she’s still so beautiful it makes my chest ache.
I trace my thumb over her face on the screen like that could close the distance between us. God, I want to be there—her tucked against me, blanket pulled over both of us, the steady rhythm of her breathing sinking me deeper into her.
There’s no denying it anymore. I’ve fallen for her. Hell, I think I fell the second I saw her dancing barefoot in the rain that night—hair soaked, laughter spilling out of her like she didn’t care who heard. That moment’s burned into me. Every version of her since has just sealed it tighter.
Olivia Matthews isn’t just my roommate, she’s everything I didn’t know I needed. The exact kind of woman who sets me on fire while soothing me.
I send her a text back with hearts and anI miss you more, then throw my phone onto the bed and head for the shower. The water’s hot, but it keeps me grounded while my mind keeps drifting to her, to the interview, to what comes next if it actually happens.
I think about how easy it is with her. How she leaves me notes about how much she loves my cooking, how she always has tobe touching me when we’re together, how she looks at me like I’m something permanent instead of a man constantly trying to prove he’s worth the space he takes up. She already makes everything better, and that scares the hell out of me, because I’ve never wanted to need anyone before.
