Something about it made my chest ache. "She really is beautiful," I murmured.
Brooks’ body stiffened. The temperature in the room shifted.
I felt it immediately—the way the easy flow of conversation suddenly came to a halt, the way Logan exhaled, slow and measured. Brooks didn’t respond so I turned back, and his eyes were already on me.
But they weren’t warm like they had been earlier. They were guarded. Like I had just stepped over an invisible line.
Logan, however, sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "She is," he said quietly, moving to stand beside me. "It’s crazy that was only four years ago. So much has changed since then." He exhaled, shaking his head.
"Sometimes, the uncertainty of the future suffocates me,” Brooks said.
A lump formed in my throat. Because I knew that feeling. I knew exactly what he meant. And when I finally looked back at Brooks, his expression was closed off, his shoulders tight.
Something had shifted between us, and I didn’t know how to fix it.
He cleared his throat, the warmth missing from his voice as he said, “Come on, Michelle. The sandwich is almost ready.”
I rubbed my hands over my arms, chasing away the sudden chill in the air. Logan shifted beside me, rolling his shoulders in a shrug, but even he felt it.
The shift in Brooks. The air between us had gone from warm and teasing to closed off and cold, and I hated how fast it happened—how I barely understood what I had done wrong.
I sat back on the island, forcing myself to act normal, but something unsettled twisted deep in my stomach. He didn’t want me knowing something. I could feel it. And that shouldn’t have mattered. It wasn’t like I had a right to every part of his life.
But still, it stung. I met his mom. I knew her.
I had told him everything—about my past, my family, the kind of things I had never said out loud before. It terrified me to let him in, to hand over pieces of myself that I couldn’t take back.
And now he was pulling away.
Why? Why did he get to choose what he shared, while I had laid myself bare?
But it was his choice, and I let him make it.
I smiled when he slid the grilled cheese in front of me. I said all the right things. I laughed when Logan told an elaborate Tinder nightmare story about a girl who tried to invite her pet snake to dinner with them.
I didn’t push. Didn’t press Brooks to explain why he suddenly didn’t want me talking about his mom.
But as the night wore on, as my body settled into the comfortable rhythm of being around him, those thoughts lingered—quiet but sharp, like a slow, dull ache I couldn’t ignore.
And when it was expected for me to follow him to his bedroom, I hesitated.
What won’t he tell me?
Why do I care?
The two thoughts tangled in my mind, making my stomach feel tight, uncomfortable. This was the kind of mind-fucking I avoided
This was why I had rules. I could have sex. I could walk away before things got messy. I could keep my heart out of it and never have to deal with this stupid ache in my ribs.
This was not supposed to happen.
And yet, instead of leaving, instead of sneaking out while I still had some control, I found myself asking, "Can I shower?"
“I was teasing about the pickles, Mitch,” Brooks sighed, his voice soft but amused. "You don’t really need to shower. I’ll still lick every part of you."
His words sent a sharp jolt through me, my body instantly awake, but my mind wasn’t there yet.
"You better," I muttered, playing along, even as my chest still felt too tight. "But a hot shower sounds nice, if you don’t mind?"
