For the next forty-five minutes, I became the version of myself I trusted. Confident. Precise. In control. I walked them through their pain points, reframed their fractured brand voice, laid out a clear strategy for rebuilding audience trust. I answered questions without hesitation, my voice smooth, my ideas sharp.
This was the part of me that didn’t flinch. The part that didn’t second-guess. The part that didn’t fall apart over a kiss.
When the call ended, my pulse was racing—but this time, it wasn’t from fear.
They wanted a proposal by the end of the week.
I let out a shaky laugh, leaning back in my chair.
I could do this.
I was still riding that high when Ledger came home mid-afternoon.
I heard the door before I saw him—the soft click of the lock, the distinct weight of his footsteps moving through the apartment. Not rushed. Not tentative.Controlled, like everything else about him when I assumed he was trying not to feel.
“Hey,” he said, coming to stand in the living room.
I looked up from my laptop. “Hey.”
He’d showered already. Hair still damp at the ends, T-shirt clinging faintly to his shoulders like he hadn’t waited long enough for his skin to dry. I wished I hadn’t noticed. I wished even more that my body wouldn’t react like it remembered exactly how close we’d been less than twelve hours ago.
We hovered there for a second, like two people unsure which version of themselves to bring into the room.
He hesitated, just barely, then crossed the room, stopping a safe distance away. Too safe.
“I got the updated Trials schedule.” He pulled out his phone. “They moved the prelims up a day. Media obligations too.”
“Okay.” I set my laptop aside, standing. “Let me see.”
He handed me his phone, our fingers brushing.
It was nothing, barely a second of contact, but the jolt shot straight through me. Ledger stilled, breath catching just enough that I knew he’d felt it too.
I took the phone anyway, forcing myself to concentrate on the screen. Dates. Times. Logistics.
“Looks like I’ll need to adjust a few calls.” I kept my voice unchanging. “But I can make it work.”
“As needed,” he said.
The words landed heavier than they should have.
I glanced up. “As needed?”
“That’s what we agreed on,” he replied carefully. “Your schedule matters too.”
There was that careful distance again. That polite, respectful tone that felt like he was putting something fragile back in a box and taping it shut.
“I know,” I said. “I just—this part gets intense, right?”
“Yeah.” His jaw tightened. “It does. We’ll need to coordinate travel. Media stuff ramps up closer to the meet.”
Silence stretched between us, thick and palpable. He didn’t step back. Didn’t step closer either. Just stood there, close enough that I could feel the heat of him, smell his soap, remember exactly how his mouth had felt on mine.
My pulse skidded.
“You don’t have to hover,” he added quietly. “I’ll be busy.”
“I’m not going to hover,” I said, a little too quickly.
