“Exactly. That’s the spirit.”
We stand there for a moment, him in the hallway, me leaning against his bedroom doorframe, and the silence that settles between us isn’t uncomfortable. It’s... something else. Something more powerful. Like we’re both noticing things we shouldn’t be noticing. Like the space between us is charged with possibility.
I should move. Should step away from his bedroom, should stop noticing how good he smells— like cinnamon and soap and something underneath that’s just him. Should stop imagining what it would be like to wake up in that cozy room, in that big bed, with someone who looks at you like you matter.
But I don’t move.
Neither does he.
“Chloe,” he says, and my name in his voice sounds different than it does when anyone else says it. Sounds important.
“Yeah?”
He opens his mouth, then closes it. Shakes his head like he’s arguing with himself. “Nothing. I just... thank you. For being here. For helping.”
It’s not what he was going to say. I can tell by the way his shoulders tense, by the way he won’t quite meet my eyes. But I don’t push.
“You’re welcome.” I nod and smile.
A crash from the room down the hallway —something falling, followed by twin squeals of laughter— breaks the moment.
Jonah sighs. “I should?—”
“Go,” I finish. “I’ll finish unpacking and be down in a few minutes.”
He nods, already heading toward their room, but he pauses with his hand on his door and looks back at me. “Chloe?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad you’re here.”
He’s gone before I can respond, his footsteps heavy as he goes to investigate whatever the twins are destroying now.
I stand there in his bedroom doorway for another moment, my heart doing something complicated and inconvenient in my chest.
Six months. I’m only here for six months.
Need to remember that.
Even as I step into his room without thinking about it, drawn by the built-in bookshelves and the photos arranged there. Even as I pick up a frame showing Jonah with two newborns —tiny, identical, wrapped in pink blankets— and see the exhaustion and terror and overwhelming love on his younger face.
Even as I realize that I’m already in trouble, and I’ve barely been here less than half a day.
“Get it together, Chloe,” I mutter to myself, setting the photo down carefully and backing out of the room.
But as I close his door and head to my own room, I can’t stop thinking about that king-sized bed. About how empty it must feel. About how it’s been three years since his ex left, and he’sstill sleeping in a room she decorated, surrounded by choices she made.
About how much I suddenly want to help him change that.
And that is definitely a problem I don’t know how to solve.
Chapter 4
Jonah
The problemwith having Chloe in my house is that I’m aware of her constantly.
It’s been three days since she moved in, and I can’t seem to turn off the part of my brain that tracks her movements. The soft pad of her feet on the stairs. The way she hums while making coffee in the kitchen. The sound of her laugh when the twins say something ridiculous at breakfast.
