I watch him go.
The air feels different once he’s gone. Thinner. Cooler. Like whatever had existed last night didn’t survive the daylight.
I turn back to my desk, stare at the sentence I’d been writing, and realize I have no idea what it says.
Maybe it wasn’t that deep, I tell myself.
The thought is sharp. Defensive.
Maybe I imagined the rest.
I straighten, refocus, and force my attention back onto the screen. I push the hurt down. I won't allow it.
After all—he’d asked.
And I'd said no.
Whatever I thought I felt last night doesn’t seem quite as important now.
And I don't know why that realization stings more than the shitty invitation ever could.
Chapter Twenty-Four
DEREK
Later—toomuch later—I’m still staring at a document without reading it when the feeling surfaces.
Not panic.
Not regret.
Disquiet.
I replay the moment again, slower this time.
The way she answered too quickly.
The way she added I already have plans like an afterthought.
The way she didn’t explain.
I’d taken that as confidence. Independence.
Relief, even.
Good, I’d thought. She doesn’t need reassurance.
Now, the thought doesn’t sit as comfortably.
I rub a hand over my jaw and lean back in my chair.
I hadn’t asked because I didn’t want to intrude.
Or because I didn’t want to hear something I’d have to react to.
The distinction matters more than I like.
My phone buzzes.
