“Good.” She yawned, curling into the corner of the backseat. “You ever think about smiling more? It wouldn’t kill you.”
“I’ll add it to my to-do list.”
She laughed again — loud, unbothered; the sound filling the cab as we pulled out of the parking lot. Ellery mumbled something beside me, too soft to catch. Her head tilted against the window, breath fogging the glass in slow, even pulses.
The drive was quiet except for the hum of the engine and Naomi humming off-key to the radio. When we reached her apartment, she leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially, “You’re a good one, Mason. Pretend I didn’t say that.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
She opened the door, then pointed at me again. “Get her home safe. And stop pretending you don’t care.”
I didn’t answer. She grinned like she already knew. Then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.
The silence that followed felt heavier — soft, fragile. Ellery shifted, sighing, one hand coming to rest on her knee. I glanced over. Her head was turned toward me now, eyes half-open but unfocused.
“You’re not supposed to be real,” she murmured.
I blinked. “Pretty sure I am.”
She smiled — small, sleepy, devastating. “Dream-you kissed better.”
“Jesus, James.”
She giggled, quiet and warm, and I had to look away before I said something I’d regret.
The stoplight ahead glowed red, painting her face in soft crimson. Her hair had come loose again, curling over her shoulder. I caught myself staring longer than I should have.
“Dream-you was… softer,” she mumbled. “But real-you… he stays.”
“Go to sleep,” I said gently.
She hummed something that might’ve been agreement, eyes fluttering shut.
I drove the rest of the way in silence; the road stretching out ahead like a secret. The city lights blurred past the windshield, streaking across her reflection — half-light, half-shadow, all the parts of her I’d never get to touch.
Every so often, she’d murmur something — my name, a soft sigh — and each sound felt like it was being carved into me.
By the time I pulled up in front of her building, my pulse was a steady ache in my throat. I sat there for a second, engine idling, watching her sleep.
She’s not yours. She never will be.
I told myself that twice, three times, just to make it stick.
Then, just before I got out to walk her up, she whispered again — so faint I almost missed it.
“You showed up.”
And maybe she was still dreaming. Maybe she didn’t mean it.
But I did.
Her townhouse was dark except for the porch light — that single pool of gold cutting through the night. The rain from earlier had left the pavement slick, shining under the glow like glass.
Ellery stirred beside me, blinking herself halfway awake. “We’re home?”
“Yeah.” I got out and rounded to her side before she could try to walk on her own. She wasn’t drunk enough to stumble, but she wasn’t steady either. She probably sobered up slightly on the drive. When she took my arm, her fingers curled lightly around my sleeve — soft, trusting. It nearly undid me right there.
We climbed the short path to her door in silence, the only sounds the faint buzz of the porch light and the low hum of the city behind us. When we reached the steps, she turned to me, that sleepy grin curving her mouth.
