She fell quiet. Her hand stayed against my ribs. "Ask me something easier."
"Okay. Coffee?"
That got a genuine smile, small and reluctant. "Coffee is a good start."
I made it while she dressed, listening to the small sounds of her in my bathroom. The hiss of the tap. A pause that was probably her looking in the mirror and deciding something.
She came out looking exactly like herself. Hair re-braided, wearing a jumpsuit she'd pulled from that monster bag of hers, the professional mask back in place. For a second I was irritated that she could put herself back together so completely, look so guarded, when I felt like someone had rewired me overnight.
She took the coffee and wrapped both hands around the mug. "Thank you. For last night. Sofia's dinner, the business conversation, all of it."
"You don't have to thank me."
"I know. But I am." She looked down at the mug. "I should get going. I've got a delivery at seven thirty."
"I know." I leaned against the counter, giving her space. "Will I see you later?"
She looked up. "Do you want to?"
"Nadia."
"I'm asking."
"Yes," I said. "I want to."
Her expression turned cautious, considering. She set the mug on the kitchen counter, one of the few surfaces not covered in doilies and knickknacks. "Then yes. You'll see me later." She picked up her keys. "Don't screw it up in the meantime."
"I'll do my best," I said before brushing my lips against hers.
She left. I stood there listening to her footsteps on the path, her van door, the engine turning over.
Sofia appeared in the doorway of my apartment before the sound had faded, in her housecoat, holding a cup of espresso, looking entirely unsurprised. "Well?"
"Well, what?"
"Don't play stupid. It doesn't suit you." She studied me over the rim of her cup. "She's scared."
"I know."
"Are you?"
I thought about it. Thought about Nadia's hand still against my ribs when I woke up. About the way she'd smiled when I offered coffee, like it had surprised her, like she'd been braced for something harder. "Yeah," I said. "I am."
Sofia made a small sound that might have been approval. "Good. Scared means it matters." She turned back into the house. "Come eat. You'll be useless all day if you don't eat first."
I followed her in.
And tried not to think about how clearly she could see through me.
That evening Nadia beat me to my own front door, and I fumbled the lock in my haste to get her inside.
"Last chance to change your mind," I said, even though the thought of her leaving now would hurt like fuck.
"Stop giving me outs," she said, pulling my shirt off and tossing it aside. "I'm right where I want to be."
Her hands were on my chest now, tracing the muscles there, and I had to close my eyes for a second. Her touch was gentle but possessive, like she was claiming me.
"Good," I said, my voice rougher than I intended. "Because I don't think I could let you go now if I tried."
