That single sound lands heavier than a paragraph.
I stay where I am, hands loose at my sides, not moving an inch closer.
Whatever she decides, it has to be her decision.
And I am very aware, suddenly, that I have crossed into territory where good intentions are not enough unless I keep proving them.
Chapter 13
Chloe
Idon’t answer himstraight away.
Not because I’m unsure. Because my body has already decided and my brain is scrambling to catch up, waving forms and shouting about risk assessments that nobody asked for.
He looks earnest. Careful. Still. Like a man who has made an offer and is now waiting to see if he’s accidentally set fire to something.
My hormones, meanwhile, are on their feet applauding.
So I don’t overthink it any further.
“Stay,” I say.
His eyebrows lift a fraction but otherwise doesn’t move.
“Stay,” I repeat, firmer now, and then I turn and walk towards the bedroom before I can talk myself out of it.
I grab my backpack from under the bed and start stuffing things into it with the focused efficiency of a woman who knows exactly what she needs.
Yoga pants. The good stretchy ones.
Knickers. Several. Optimism is for other people.
Sanitary towels because tampons and I are not friends.
My toothbrush, because I am not feral.
Then, after a second’s thought, another bra. A T-shirt. Deodorant. This is not about seduction. This is about logistics.
I zip the bag, sling it over my shoulder, and head back into the living room.
Tom hasn’t moved.
Not a step. Not a shift. He looks up like he’s been holding his breath.
“Ready,” I say.
Then I stop.
“Actually,” I add, pointing towards the kitchen, “pack up the dessert. It would be a crime to abandon it.”
He nods immediately and does exactly that, no questions asked.
I grab Hadrian’s food and tip it into his bowl. He emerges instantly, pleased with himself and the world.
“Don’t judge me,” I tell him quietly. “This is medical.”
Hadrian chews thoughtfully but if he has an opinion on my impending emergency shag, he doesn’t say.
