Page 37 of Igniting Her

Cassie’s mouth gave in completely. The smile felt unfamiliar on her face and effortless under Ellie’s gaze.

They stayed in bed through the hour Cassie had intended to use for dinner.

Ellie lay diagonally across the mattress, one leg tangled with Cassie’s and one shoulder warm along her side. Cassie’s hair had come loose against the pillow. Neither had moved to fix it. The water glasses were half empty. A bottle of unscented lotion stood open on the bedside table after Cassie had worked it into the faint red marks at Ellie’s hips.

“Four o’clock has improved as a concept,” Ellie said.

“You objected at nine oh-six, two forty-three, and in person.”

“You kept records?”

“I own a phone.”

“You look different with your hair down,” Ellie said.

“Untidy?”

“Happy.”

The word should have required correction. Cassie had no useful one. Ellie’s body rested warm and unguarded beside her. The room smelled of sex, clean cotton, and salt moving through the open window. Cassie could not remember the last time her body had felt this loose, as though the small muscles held ready along her spine had finally accepted that no alarm was coming.

Ellie’s finger reached the edge of the faded burn scar on Cassie’s arm and stopped. She did not ask about it. The restraint loosened Cassie further.

Too far.

Too late.

“Who was J. Calloway?” Ellie asked.

The name entered the room and removed every degree of warmth.

Cassie’s body hardened beneath her. Ellie lifted her head. For one second, Cassie saw the question without defense around it: no challenge, no attempt to corner her. Then the photograph in the desk drawer returned. The plaque. A hand suspended near Cassie’s face with soot on its fingers. Another woman’s laughter in a bay that no longer existed in quite the same way.

Cassie moved Ellie aside and got out of bed.

“Cassie.”

“I’m taking a shower.”

She closed the bathroom door before Ellie could answer. Water struck the tile hard enough to erase the room. Cassie stood beneath it until the heat reddened her skin. She washed methodically, then washed her hair, forcing her hands to remain occupied while the answer pressed against the back of her teeth.

Jules was⁠—

No.

Ellie had agreed. No questions about the past. Cassie had built one clear boundary and allowed pleasure to make it look temporary. That did not make it temporary. She shut off the water, dried herself, and dressed in dark trousers and a navy long-sleeved shirt. She drew her damp hair into the regulation twist, though she was off duty and the only person waiting beyond the door was Ellie.

When she returned, Ellie sat on the edge of the bed in her underwear, blouse open in her lap. The relaxed sprawl was gone. Her bare feet were planted on the floor as if she expected an impact.

Cassie stopped in the doorway. “You agreed not to ask about my past.”

Ellie looked at her hair, then the buttoned cuffs, then finally her face. Something in her expression went quiet. “I know.”

“Then why did you?”

“Because for a minute you weren’t waiting for me to leave.”

Anger would have been easier to withstand.