“Hazel,” I said, voice quiet but firm, “listen to me very carefully.” She swallowed, her body suddenly aware of our closeness. “I’m not playing games here. Yes, I’ve slept with a lot of women.” I let my eyes roam her face, then moved to her beautiful lips. “But I’ve never deceived anyone. I’ve never lied my way into anyone’s bed. They always knew my intentions.” Her breathing got faster, more uneven. I liked it. “So when I say you look pretty or that I enjoy your company, it’s not for your benefit. It’s because I mean it.”
Her shoulder strap had fallen, and I selfishly took my chance. I reached up, lightly brushing my knuckles against her bare skin. Goosebumps rose along her arm, and I tilted my head, savoring the moment. Savoring her.
“It doesn’t matter if you don’t believe me, or no one’s ever said it to you,” I doubted the latter, “I call it as I see it. If that makes you uncomfortable—too bad.” I slowly lifted the strap, placing it back on her shoulder, imagining how it would feel to take it off instead. Tasting this moment, her silence, her breath between us, the feel of her skin beneath my fingertips. The flush on her face made her look even better.
“Okay?” I finished my tantalizing with a soft question, letting her know there was no other answer that I expected from her.
“Okay,” she breathed out.
“Good. Checkmate.” She didn’t register it at first, but then her head snapped to the board, eyes widening at my queen’smove. Her rosy cheeks clashed with the shock on her face before she let out a defeated sigh.
“Don’t worry. You’re getting better. This was much better than your first game,” I tried to comfort her. She kept analyzing the board, searching for where she went wrong. “Some people just have different strengths.” She shot me a skeptical look. “For example, I could never make a cup of coffee as magnificent as yours.”
“Oh, thank you. That’s like calling a woman a good dish washer.”
I snickered. “Good thing we’re not playing for money, though,” I added. “Otherwise, we should switch to Monopoly dollars.” She suddenly stilled.
Then, slowly, the edges of her mouth curved into a wide, unexpected smile. One of those rare, luminous ones that made the room feel warmer.
“What?” I asked, caught off guard by the shift in her.
She shook her head slightly, eyes soft, lost somewhere far away. “Nothing. Just...” A soft laugh escaped her. “My mom and I used to do that. We’d sit on the floor with a pile of Monopoly bills and pick out our dream houses from newspaper ads. We’d count the money like we could actually buy them. That was our thing.”
For a second, she wasn’t here. She was back on that floor, laughing beside someone she loved.
And just like that, something cracked open in my chest. I wasn’t expecting it. I wasn’t ready for the simplicity of that memory to feel so sacred. But it did. Like I’d been handed something delicate and quietly precious. And all I could think was: I wanted to be a part of the things that made her smile like that. Not just witness it—be in it.
“Oh, damn,” she checked her phone. “It’s late, we should probably go to sleep.”
A small disappointment settled in my chest, but it was fine. We had time.
“Yeah, we probably should,” I said, collecting the chessboard.
Hazel had reached the bedroom when she turned to me. “Hey, Luke?”
“Mm?”
“You were right. I...” she hesitated. “I sat at the beach today, and I really did feel better.” Her face softened as she gifted me this small confession. “I felt at ease. And that’s because of you. So, thank you.”
My heart expanded a thousand times over. That’s all I needed—her to be comfortable and safe. For now, it was enough. But like an addict, I suspected it wouldn’t be enough soon.
“Good night, Hazel.”
She closed the door, unaware of how deeply she was creeping into my heart. It terrified me—how she was breaking down my walls piece by piece. Truthfully, I hadn’t anticipated it either. After all, I’d never let anyone do that before.
* * *
I jolted awake, tangled in sweat-damp sheets. I’d been dreaming about something, but honest to God, I couldn’t remember what. My phone read 4:00 A.M., barely two hours since we’d gone to bed. I rolled over, but this damn couch felt about as soft as a sack of potatoes. I stirred for a moment, trying to find the best position, but ended up staring at the ceiling. The bruise on my face was still giving me a headache. I sat up, rubbed my face, and exhaled. Tiny specks drifted across my vision—eye floaters, as Hazel and her human anatomy book had explained on the plane.
I shuffled into the kitchen and pressed a cold glass of water against my heated skin, exhaling as the coolness spread. Suddenly, I heard something—a faint, unrecognizable soundcoming from the bedroom. At first, it sounded like a creak of the bed frame or maybe the wind moving something on the balcony. I held my breath, straining to hear more.
Silence. Maybe I had brain damage from the fall. I lifted the glass to my lips just as I heard it again.
What is it?It was definitely repetitive.Was she... crying?My jaw tightened, lips pressing into a thin line as a wave of tension rose in my chest.
Should I go to her? Should I console her? Maybe that’s invading her privacy.
I set the glass down without a sound and moved closer to her door. The moon was lighting the way for me as if it knew I needed its help tonight.
