He reached into his pocket and pulled free a folded slip of paper, softened at the edges from being carried against him.Without asking, he slid it beneath the peach, leaving it where she would find it without him needing to say more.
Morning, Chef.Welcome home.—T
Kyla’s hand moved before her expression changed.Her fingers closed around the note, gripping it tight enough to crease the paper further.For a moment, her body went still.
Her breath caught high in her chest before she pulled it back under control.Her throat moved as she swallowed, and his focus followed the motion before he forced it away.
He stayed where he was, watching.Her shoulders shifted, the tension easing by a fraction, and her weight tipped closer before she checked it.His knuckles brushed the inside of her wrist as he reached for the peach again, the contact brief but clear.Neither of them stepped away.
Kyla moved first.She lifted the peach and bit into it without hesitation.Juice broke free, running along her chin before she caught it.The sound of the bite carried through the room, grounded and real.
Titus moved without thinking.His thumb traced the path the juice had taken, moving from her chin to the line of her throat.The contact stayed light but direct, enough to mark the space between them.He lifted his hand, his gaze still locked on hers, and drew his thumb across his own mouth.
The taste came through clean and sharp, sweet and cut with salt.She did not look away.Her jaw tightened, and her lips stayed parted.Her eyes stayed fixed on his, wide enough that the color struggled to hold its place.
Titus drew in a breath that did not settle as easily as he wanted.The line between what he wanted and what she would allow narrowed until her gaze became the only thing that kept him still.The moment stretched, and the air between them became thick.
Titus lowered his hand and stepped back, giving space where there had been none.Sweat moved along his jaw, the taste still lingering as he pulled himself into something he could control.
Kyla raised her hand to her mouth, wiping at the place his thumb had been.The note remained clenched in her other hand, wrinkled and tight.For a moment, her hands shook, then steadied as she pressed them against the counter.She kept her eyes on him.There was no distance left to hide behind.
Roscoe circled once before lowering himself onto the floor at her feet.His presence broke something in the room that neither of them had touched.Kyla’s shoulders dropped slightly, and the line of her posture loosened by a fraction.She drew in a longer breath and let it out in a controlled release.
She still did not turn away.Her tongue moved across her lower lip, catching what remained there, and his stomach tightened again in response.
He hooked his thumbs into his belt loops, grounding himself in the stance.The pit of the peach rested slick in his other hand, forgotten but not discarded.He needed her to decide what came next.
The kitchen stayed quiet except for the faint mechanical sound from the refrigerator and the distant buzz of summer beyond the walls.He held his place.
The sound of tires over gravel broke through the quiet.Titus stepped back and turned toward the porch, crossing it in a few strides.The light outside hit hard, bright enough to force his eyes to narrow as he adjusted.
A mail jeep rolled to a stop near the drive.The carrier stayed seated, one arm resting out the window, and extended a stack of envelopes toward him.Titus stepped forward and took them, his attention moving immediately to the thickest envelope on top.
His name sat printed clean above the return address: McAllister Bank.
He opened it where he stood, the seal giving way under his thumb.The paper inside listed terms without softness.Ninety days.No extension.Amounts due.Consequences followed.His stomach tightened as he read.
The screen door sounded behind him.Kyla stepped into the doorway, the light outlining her form.A trace of juice remained at the edge of her mouth.Her attention moved from the envelope to his face, then to his hand where the paper began to fold under his grip.
Titus slid the notice into his back pocket, keeping his movements even and controlled.His expression settled into something neutral, the same face he used when questions came that he had no intention of answering.
She watched him without speaking.The peach and the note remained inside, markers of something neither of them had addressed.For a moment, he thought she might press him or demand an answer he was not ready to give.
She did not.She stayed where she was, framed by the doorway, her stance balanced between stepping forward and stepping back.
Titus lifted one hand in a small gesture and then moved down the porch steps, taking them at a steady pace.His boots hit the dirt, with dust shifting under each step.He did not turn around.
The sun stretched wide across the sky, bright and unrelenting.The notice pressed against his back pocket with each step he took.Two debts followed him.One was written in ink, and one was carried in silence.Both were waiting.
