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“What do you want to eat?”

“You don’t have to make me anything.”

She still hasn’t figured out that having to do it has nothing to do with it. There’s something ridiculously satisfying about learning all the little things she forgets to tell me, especially when it means I can take care of her without turning it into a conversation first. Every new thing I learn only makes me curious about the next one.

“I can make sandwiches.”

“That works.” She catches me reaching for the bread. “But you have to eat too.”

“I was planning on it.”

I start pulling everything out while Calliope stays curled into the corner of my couch, scrolling through something for us to watch and rejecting one option after another. Occasionally, she makes a face at the screen or mutters something I can’t hear from the kitchen, and I catch myself smiling while I make our sandwiches. When I told her I missed her yesterday, I was thinking about seeing her again, but watching her get comfortable while I make her lunch makes me realize how much of this I missed. I like the dates and the nights when neither of us can keep our hands off each other, but I like this version of us just as much. She can do her thing in my space while I do mine without either of us needing the other’s attention every second.

Once the sandwiches are ready, I carry them into the living room and hold hers out to her before sitting beside her with mine. Calliope takes a bite before I even have to tell her to eat, and the satisfaction of watching her let me take care of her slips out before I think better of it.

“That’s my good girl.”

Her smile disappears, and the heat that replaces it in her eyes hits me hard enough that I forget about the sandwich in my hand. I meant the praise because I’m glad she’s eating, but the way she takes it makes me want to say it again for an entirely different reason.

“You cannot do that when I’m trying to eat.”

The redness spreading across her cheeks tells me exactly what another good girl would do to her concentration, and suddenly, eating my own lunch seems like the safest thing I can do with my mouth.

Calliope takes another bite, but the look she gives me says she knows exactly what I’m doing. “Is this my reward for eating my lunch?”

The word reward coming out of her mouth nearly destroys the good intentions I’m hanging on to, but I manage to keep my eyes above her neck.

“Right now, it’s lunch.”

Calliope holds my gaze for a second before taking another bite. I pick up my sandwich before the direction of my thoughts becomes obvious enough for her to use against me, and we finish eating while whatever she picked plays on the TV.

Once our plates are empty, I take them into the kitchen and come back to find her stretched across the couch like she’s been doing it for years. She shifts without looking away from the screen when I sit beside her, making room for me before settling against my side. I wrap my arm around her and let her keep the remote without caring what she puts on. We stay like that for a while, her tucked against me while my hand moves slowly along her arm. She laughs at something on the screen, and I find myself listening to her more than whatever we’re supposed to be watching.

Her phone eventually vibrates on the coffee table. She reaches for it without moving very far, but whatever she sees has her lifting her head from my shoulder. “I should probably head home soon.”

I knew she’d eventually have to leave, but my arm tightens around her before I can stop it. She’s already given me most of her day, but that hasn’t done a damn thing to make me ready to give her up for the night.

“What time is it?”

“Almost six.”

I glance toward the windows and find the light outside has faded while we’ve been sitting here. She’s been here for most of the day without any part of it feeling long, and now the minutes suddenly feel a hell of a lot easier to count. Calliope puts her phone back on the table and settles against me again, and I keep my arm around her while she gives herself a few more minutes. I missed her enough yesterday to ask her to come over, but spending the entire day together has only made me more reluctant to see her leave. Watching her make herself comfortable in my home has made me want something I’ve been avoiding putting into words.

Another hour isn’t going to fix that. Neither is getting her back here tomorrow or planning another date before she walks out the door, because this stopped being about how much time I could get with her a while ago. I know Calliope wants me. She’s shown me every time she answers my calls, comes back to my condo, curls against me without thinking about it, or looks at me like she did over lunch. What I don’t know is whether she wants this to be something we actually call ours, and I haven’t exactly made it easy for her to tell me when I’ve never had the nerve to ask.

Keeping this undefined has let me avoid an answer I might not want to hear, but it hasn’t kept me from getting attached to her. I’ve already let Calliope closer than anyone since Sloane, and I know exactly what it feels like to believe someone chose me right up until they didn’t. The difference is that Calliope has never promised me anything she could take away. I’m the one sitting here wanting more from her while pretending that not asking for it will make losing her hurt any less.

“Okay, I really need to move before I decide staying here tomorrow is easier than going home.”

I almost tell her I wouldn’t mind. I want her back here tomorrow, and the day after that sounds pretty fucking good. I want her when she’s in my bed or sitting across from me on a date, but I also want the woman who takes over my couch with twenty pounds of shit in her bag, forgets to eat until I feed her, and steals my attention without even trying. I want to know I get to call her because she’s mine to call and that she knows I belong to her just as much.

Knowing what I want doesn’t make asking for it any easier when getting the answer I want comes with a fear of its own. If Calliope wants this, I’m choosing a relationship with Coach’s daughter while he trusts me enough to have no idea it’s happening. That wouldn’t have scared me this much when I first came to Charlotte. Back then, Coach’s faith in me mattered because I needed somewhere to play football. Now, after Houston, he’s seen me fail, held me accountable, and trusted me the next morning anyway. His trust matters for reasons that have nothing to do with whether he puts me on a football field, and I don’t want caring about his daughter to be the thing that changes the way he sees me. But being afraid of what happens if I choose Calliope doesn’t change the fact that I already have.

Calliope leans forward and reaches for her bag, and I catch her hand before she can grab it. “Pea.”

She looks down at my hand over hers before her eyes lift to mine. “What?”

My heart is beating hard enough that I’m sure some of it shows on my face, but I’m done trying to read what she wants before I risk telling her what I do.