But maybe I could give her more nights like this one.
One dinner. Just us. Somewhere that wasn't her apartment, where she could dress up and feel like herself again. Not a mom. Not a teacher. Just Maya.
She'd said she wasn't ready to date. I'd respect that.
But maybe she was ready to be taken care of. Just a little. Just once.
I was going to ask her. And if she said no, I'd keep showing up anyway.
But I had to try.
Because walking out of that bedroom tonight had been the hardest thing I’d ever done. And I wasn't sure how many more times I could do it.
CHAPTER 8
Maya
Shane Briggs wantedto take me out to dinner.
A real dinner. Not on my couch.
I was still trying to figure out what to do with that.
The call had come on a Wednesday night. I was already in bed, phone pressed to my ear, listening to Shane describe a probie who’d somehow gotten his head stuck in a stairwell railing during a drill.
"So Torres is standing there with a tub of butter," Shane said, "and the kid is bright red, and Captain Rodriguez is just watching with this expression like he's questioning every life choice that led him to this moment."
I laughed into my pillow. "Did the butter work?"
"Eventually. After about fifteen minutes and a lot of creative angles." His voice was warm, easy. The way it always got during these late-night calls that had become our routine. "Kid's never going to live it down. Brian's already planning the nickname."
"Poor thing."
"He'll survive. It builds character." A pause. The comfortable kind—the kind where neither of us felt the need to fill the silence.
I glanced at the clock. 11:47 PM. We’d been talking for nearly an hour.
"I should let you sleep," Shane said.
"Probably." I didn't move to hang up.
"Maya." His voice shifted. There was something underneath it, hesitation I wasn't used to hearing from him.
"Yeah?"
"I want to take you to dinner." The words came out quieter than before, like the darkness had made him braver. "A real dinner. Not on your couch."
My heart stumbled.
"It doesn't have to be a date," he added quickly. "I just... When was the last time you got dressed up and went somewhere nice? Somewhere that wasn't your apartment, or the school, or the grocery store? When's the last time you did something just for you?"
I stared at the ceiling and tried to think of an answer.
He exhaled. "One dinner. Millie can watch Zoe. You can wear jeans, I don't care. It's just... time. For you. That's all I'm asking."
That's all I'm asking.
He wasn't asking for anything. He was offering.
