LATE NIGHTS AND LOOSE ENDS
WILL
It was Friday night, just before nine. Natalie would be over soon. Don’t push anything, I told myself. Things felt natural so far, but still, she was married, and I was starting to feel like “the other guy.”
That label didn’t sit well with me. I’d never been in this kind of situation. My life was always about control and avoiding complications. But nothing about Natalie felt simple. She made me want to ignore the rules, forget about boundaries, and see where this could go.
When she showed up at my door, wearing black leggings that clung in all the right ways and an old Indiana University hoodie that looked like it was her favorite sweatshirt, I thought how beautiful she looked. Her hair was pulled up, with a few loose strands around her face. No makeup. No performance. Just her. Maybe that’s why I can never stop looking at her, because she never seemed like she was trying to be anything other thanexactly who she was. And somehow, that only made her more impossible to ignore.
She stepped inside, shifting her laptop bag on her shoulder. I tried not to look surprised.So, this was apparently still a “work thing”—a late-night work thing?
I couldn’t tell if she was trying to convince me, herself, or both of us.
“I figured I could show you a few ideas I had in mind,” she said, slipping off her shoes by the door.
“Sure,” I said and led her into the kitchen.
She followed me in, quiet, her bag still hanging from one shoulder like she wasn’t sure how long she planned to stay.
I opened the fridge. “Still like Sauvignon Blanc?”
“I do,” she said with a soft smile.
I poured two glasses and handed her one. Our fingers brushed. She didn’t pull back, but she didn’t say a word either.
She set her glass down on the counter and pulled her laptop from the bag.
“I was thinking we could start with fabrics, pillow options, and some wallpaper ideas. I mocked up a few of the rooms.”
She sat at the barstool but angled the laptop so I could see it. I stayed standing for a moment, watching her navigate the trackpad with quick, practiced movements. Then I moved beside her, close enough to catch the scent of her shampoo, something light, citrusy, clean.
Our arms brushed as I leaned in to see the screen. She didn’t move, she clicked right into a presentation. Sconces, wallpaper swatches. Fabric samples for the pillows, some artwork.
Her choices would add warmth and elegance to the house while still keeping the vibe I wanted. It was as if she could read my mind and pull out the best parts of my style, a style that wasn’t even showing in this place.
“These are great,” I gazed down at her. “This one especially,” I pointed at the screen.
“Great choice, a subtle navy grasscloth, and it has that copper undertone when the light hits it just right.”
I let my hand drift to the edge of the counter, behind hers. Not quite touching. Close enough that if either of us moved even a little, we would be.
She clicked again, landing on a large abstract painting. “Do you like this?” she asked, pointing toward the image. “I thought it might work in the hallway or even over the console in the entry.”
I studied it for a second. The piece had tones of charcoal and soft blues and looked rough around the edges.
“I like it,” I said, though I wasn’t really looking at the screen anymore.
She stayed still.
The silence stretched, thick. Her eyes lifted to mine. We were facing each other. Her knee brushed mine, this time she leaned into it.
She looked up at me like she was waiting for something. I felt the urge to kiss her. The way her lips curved into a soft smile, the faint freckles across her nose—it was all too much. Slowly, carefully, I put one hand on her cheek and the other on her waist, pulling her gently toward me. She didn’t resist. She exhaled slowly. Her breath was warm against my skin.
I traced over the freckle on her nose, her lips, and then kept moving my finger down her neck. Her skin was soft, and her breathing hitched as my hand lingered. It felt electric, like the moment before a lightning strike.
I reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear, letting my fingers trail along her jaw.
Her lips parted. Her eyes didn’t leave mine.
