And then Cal laughed.
It came out of nowhere, sudden and bright. "God, do you remember the time he tried to cook for your birthday? The paella disaster?"
The memory hit me and I laughed too, harder than I'd laughed in years. "He set off three smoke alarms."
"Four. There was one in the hallway."
"The fire department almost came."
"They did come. I had to call them off." Cal was laughing so hard he had to brace himself against the counter. "He was standing in the middle of the kitchen, covered in saffron, absolutely devastated. And you just looked at him and said?—"
"I said, 'So, pizza?'"
"And he looked so relieved he almost cried."
I was laughing so hard my eyes were watering, the kind of laughter that shakes your whole body and leaves you breathless. It had been so long since I'd laughed like this. So long since anything had felt light enough to allow it.
When I finally caught my breath, I realized that Cal had been watching me all along. He wasn't laughing anymore. He was just observing, with a look in his eyes that made the air feel different.
"What?" I managed.
"Nothing." But he didn't look away. "I just like seeing you laugh."
The warmth between us shifted, sharpening into something else. It was the kind of tension that made my skin feel too tight, my pulse a deafening roar inmy ears. We were looking at each other, and neither of us was pretending we didn't notice the change.
I turned back to the sink, desperate to steady myself. It was useless. I kept washing the dishes, trying to scrub the feeling away, but it couldn't be stopped. I was just trying to get through the next few minutes without doing something stupid.
But then Cal moved. He reached past me, for the dish towel, maybe, or to put something away. It didn't matter why. What mattered was that suddenly he was right there, close enough that I could feel the heat of him radiating against my back. I stopped fighting it. I turned around.
Mistake. Or not a mistake. I couldn't tell anymore.
We were inches apart. The counter pressed against my lower back, and Cal stood before me, so close I had to tilt my head up to meet his eyes. The kitchen had never felt so small. Or perhaps it had always been too small, and I’d simply never noticed until no..
He didn't step back. Neither did I.
"Lucy." My name in his mouth, low and rough, like it cost him something to say it.
His hand lifted slowly, giving me a window of time to stop him if I wanted to. But I didn't.
His fingertips brushed my jaw. Just that, the lightest touch, tracing from my chin to my ear, tucking a strand of hair back. His hand lingered there, curved against the side of my face, his thumb resting below my cheekbone, tracing slow, feather-light circles against my skin.
I could feel the calluses on his palm against my face, but I could also feel the slight tremor in his fingers. The one small sign that betrayed him. He wasn’t as steady as he looked.
Neither was I.
"Lucy." My name again, barely a whisper this time.
I should say something. Anything to break the tension, a joke, a step back, a reminder of all the reasons this was complicated. Mateo, our history, the ghosts that still lived in the corners of this house.
But I couldn't move, and I couldn't think. I could only stand there with his hand on my face and his body so close I could feel the heat radiating off him.
His thumb kept tracing my cheekbone, even slower now, moving back and forth in a steady, rhythmic sweep. It felt like he was memorizing the shape of me, as if he were trying to learn my face by heart.
"Tell me to stop," His voice sounded strained and rough. "If you want me."
I didn't tell him to stop.
I wanted this just as much as he did. My mouth made no sound against the tension, no protest. I just accepted it.
