So, not more fish. Interesting.
“My grandpa has a dog. I take him for walks every weekend since he can’t manage it himself anymore.”
She perks up, leaning forward, her interest clearly piqued. “That’s really sweet of you.”
“It’s not just out of kindness,” I confess with a chuckle. “I love it too. Peanut needs the exercise, and I need the fresh air.”
Her fork halts midair, her expression shifting to one of amused disbelief, her eyebrows arching upwards in surprise. “Wait, his name is Peanut?”
Realization dawns on me, and laughter bursts forth freely. It’s a deep, relieving laugh that fills the space between us before she joins in with her giggles.
I have no idea when I last laughed that hard.
“I was going to ask if you wanted to join me for a walk, but I guess I should keep peanuts away from you,” I quip, still chuckling.
Her sweet giggles soften into a gentle smile. “No, I’d love to join. Really.”
“Sunday?” I venture, my words carrying a hopeful edge with a hint of nervousness.
I wanted to keep my distance, and now I ask her out? Is this what this is? Or just a walk between two new friends?
“Yes, Sunday is perfect,” she whispers, her response almost lost amid the pounding of my heart in my ears. “I can’t wait to meet Peanut.”
And I can’t wait to spend more time with you.
I stand to clear the dishes, and Amelia quickly joins me, grabbing plates and silverware.
When she watches me put away the last of them into the dishwasher, she says, “Thanks for helping with dinner. It was really good, and this was… nice.”
“It was,” I respond, feeling a genuine smile tug at my lips. “And now we’re sure everything works as it should.“
As if that was your focus tonight, Grey.
We finish tidying up, wiping down the counters one last time, ensuring everything is back in its place. It feels domesticated, homey.
I need to leave.
“I have to head out.”
“Of course,” she replies quietly, a hint of sadness in her eyes. “Thanks… again. It was fun.”
She walks me to her door. I pull on my shoes, and as I step out, she looks up at me with an expression I can’t quite read—something tender, something longing.
Fuck.
On impulse, I reach out and grab her hand, pulling her outside the apartment where I know the cameras don’t reach.
In a swift motion, I draw her close, one hand at the small of her back, the other cradling the back of her head. I hug her tightly, inhaling the sweet, milky, vanilla-lavender scent of her hair. I can’t resist planting a soft kiss on the top of her head.
“Good night, Princess,” I whisper, feeling her hands clutch at the fabric of my shirt, her grip tight.
“Night,” she mumbles into my chest.
After a moment, I release her, stepping back quickly. Turning away without another glance, I stride toward the elevator, the heavy beat of my heart echoing my rapid steps. As the doors slide shut, I’m left with the lingering warmth of her embrace and a tightness in my chest.
What the fuck am I doing?
I can’t afford to feel this way, not about her. Not when Oliver…
