Thealmost.
I stared at the ceiling, counting the faint cracks in the paint like that might center me. Like I hadn’t been the one who’d leaned in too. Like my breath hadn’t stalled in my lungs when I realized how close we were.
If she hadn’t shifted first …
I exhaled slowly through my nose.
Don’t go there.
Roxie stirred, her fingers flexing against the fabric of my T-shirt where she’d hooked them sometime in the night. I froze, my body going rigid on instinct, like movement might break something fragile.
Normally, this was the moment when she’d realize where she was, halfway on my side of the bed, and scurry back with a quick apology she pretended not to mean. We’d both act like it hadn’t happened. Like the quiet closeness of sleep didn’t count.
But this morning, she didn’t move right away.
She murmured something unintelligible, her grip tightening for just a second before loosening, and then she blinked awake.
For a second, she just looked at me. Sleep soft. Unguarded. No walls. No careful distance.
“Morning,” she said quietly.
“Morning.”
My voice came out rougher than I intended.
Her brow furrowed. “You okay?”
There it stood, undeniable. That question she always asked now, like she meant it. Like it mattered.
“Yeah,” I said too quickly. “Just … didn’t sleep great.”
She studied me for another second, still close, still warm, like she was deciding whether to believe me. Her thumb brushed my chest once, absent and unconscious, and something in my chest pulled tight.
Then she nodded and rolled onto her back, slow instead of sudden. The sheet slid lower, exposing her collarbone, the soft line of her shoulder. Nothing I hadn’t seen before.
But everything felt different anyway.
We lay there in silence, the space between us buzzing. Her arm brushed mine. Not accidental. Not intentional either.
And the worst part was how much I liked that she hadn’t rushed away this time, even as it left me more unsettled than if she had.
The line was blurring. I could feel it.
She pushed herself up, stretching with a quiet groan. “I guess I should get up and get ready.”
“Right,” I said. “I’ve got to get to practice.”
We moved at the same time, legs tangling briefly before we untangled with awkward apologies that didn’t quite cover the tension.
In the kitchen, she made coffee while I leaned against the counter, failing not to watch her. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear. The way she bit her lip when she was thinking.
Last night, at the bar, she’d laughed more than I’d seen her laugh in weeks. I’d felt it then too, that tug. Like I wanted to be the reason for it. Like I wanted to keep her sheltered inside that sound.
She handed me a mug. Our fingers brushed.
It was electric.
She pulled back first.
