“Of course.” The sheet rustles as she pulls it up, creating a barrier between us that wasn’t there moments ago.
“Minji, I?—”
“Need to shower.” She’s already sliding away, feet finding the floor. “Nine o’clock meeting.”
I watch silently as she walks into my closet, picking out her clothes for today.
“You know, there’s no rule that says you have to leave just because I’m going on tour. You could stay here while I’m gone.Keep the plants alive. Make sure my apartment doesn’t get robbed.”
She exits the closet, clutching her clothes at her chest and pauses in the doorway to the bathroom. “Aaron…”
“Just think about it,” I say before she can shut me down.
“I loathe anything garden-related.” She looks down at her foot. Then I remember what happened to her and why she had to go on a leave of absence months ago. “So, no. I will not be staying to keep those plants alive.”
“I thought you loved flowers and roses.” I tease.
“I love receiving them, not growing or caring for them,” she clarifies with a smile. “There’s a difference. Besides, I’d probably kill them within a week.”
“Fair point.” I sit up, running a hand through my curls. “The offer stands, though. For the apartment, I mean. Not the plant care.”
She disappears into the bathroom without responding, and I hear the shower turn on. I lie back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling and trying to figure out how to make the most of these last twenty-four hours without scaring her off completely.
By the time she emerges, steam follows her from the bathroom. I’ve poured coffee into her favorite mug—the oversized blue one with the chip on the handle—and set out toast with a thin layer of the apricot jam she prefers.
“So, last night before takeoff.”
She accepts the mug with both hands, eyes fixed on the rising steam. “I know.”
“I was thinking we could do something special. That Italian place on Eighth? Or stay in, watch that documentary series you’ve been talking about? I could attempt that risotto recipe?—”
“Aaron.” The mug makes a soft clink against the marble. Her eyes finally meet mine. “This doesn’t need to be complicated.”
My stomach drops. “Complicated?”
“You understand what I’m saying.” Something in her voice shifts. “We should keep this?—”
“Simple? Casual? Just a fling that ends when I board that plane?” The words taste bitter. I can’t believe she is building back up these walls the night before I go on tour. Fuck.
“What’s gotten into you this morning?”
“You’re already planning your exit strategy, aren’t you? You’re going to ghost me again after I get on that plane. After everything we’ve?—”
“Hold on.” A laugh escapes her. “If you’d let me finish… I was going to suggest we keep this going. Texts, calls, maybe I could even fly out to see your San Francisco event. I checked, and it falls on a weekend.”
“Really? I thought you would tell me not to worry?—”
“And I’m still going to tell you not to worry about it. If you keep wanting to put a label on us, it’s not going to work. I enjoy you and your company, let’s just give whatever this is more time.” She smiles. “I’m not running away again, but you constantly wanting a label this early on will make me want to run.”
“Fair enough.” I mean, I can’t blame her.
“Aaron?” She tilts her head, studying me. “You okay with that?”
“Yeah,” I manage, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes.“Of course. No labels, no pressure.”
She looks relieved, and that’s what hurts the most—her visible relaxation at having successfully navigated away from anything too serious. I look down at her mug, needing a moment to compose myself. She’s talking about visiting me in San Francisco, but it’s to just scratch an itch, to maintain the physical connection without risking the emotional one.
“You sure? You’ve got that look.” She leans against the counter, suddenly too perceptive.
