He turns slightly toward me and looks as if he wants to say something.
His mouth opens just a fraction.
And panic flares in my chest for absolutely no logical reason.
So I jump in first.
“So,” I say too quickly, already reaching for the door handle, “I’m gonna go to bed. I’m tired.”
The words tumble out in one breath.
Jake pauses. I can feel his eyes on me.
He clears his throat. “Of course. It is late.”
His voice is neutral. Calm.
“Okay then,” I say, nodding like we’re in some kind of business meeting. “I will.”
“Okay, great.”
We sound like two coworkers clocking out of a shift.
There’s a half-second of silence where neither of us moves, like we’re waiting for the other to go first.
Then we both reach for our doors at the exact same time.
And somehow we both speed up slightly on the path to the front door.
It feels like we’re racing each other to the safety of our own bedrooms.
Weird.
This is so weird.
The second we’re inside, I’m already halfway up the staircase when I toss a quick, “Night,” over my shoulder.
“Night,” he echoes.
His voice follows me up the stairs.
I take them a little too fast.
By the time I reach the hallway, my heart is pounding harder than it should.
I shut the bedroom door and lean back against it.
What the hell was that?
***
The next morning, I wake up early, but I know Jake is already at practice.
I slip out of bed and pad downstairs.
The house is quiet.
I make coffee and step into the garden with my mug.
