Chapter 1 #2
I’ve been replaying her words on a loop throughout the night. While we drank at the bar. While we danced more. While we chatted with other guests.
We’re being driven home now while she sits beside me, admiring the city lights as we head toward her neighborhood.
She leans back and closes her eyes, and I let myself admire her profile. Her eye makeup is a bit smudged, and I want to reach over to wipe it, but I don’t.
“I can feel you staring.” A whisper of a smile brightens her face.
I’m not used to a no. I’m especially not used to a no that isn’t wrapped in flirtation, in negotiation.
The driver pulls us to the curb, and I jump out before rounding the car to open the door for her. She stumbles slightly.
“I’ll walk you up.”
She snorts. “I’m not sleeping with you, Xander.”
Jesus. “I didn’t say you were.”
“You didn’t not say it.”
“I’m walking you to your door because it’s dark.”
The strap of her dress is falling down one shoulder, and it takes everything in me not to reach over and fix it. Or trace the line of her skin. Or say something stupid like, “Please don’t go in yet.”
She stops at the entrance and turns to me. “Thank you for tonight.”
“You’re thanking me for not trying to grope you while we danced?” I wink at her.
A laugh escapes her. “Well, that too.”
“You really think I’m that predictable?”
“I think you’re used to being the one pursued.”
“I think you’re projecting.”
She quirks an eyebrow, but the corners of her mouth lift. “Still charming.”
I wait for her to turn and leave, to give me a wave and disappear into the night.
She doesn’t.
Instead, she shifts her weight and tilts her head. “Are you hungry?”
I blink. “What?”
“There’s a bakery. Open all night. Their pastries will ruin you for all other pastries.”
It’s past midnight. I have a three-hour meeting block first thing tomorrow. And I’ve already had enough champagne to justify calling it a night. Also, I don’t eat baked goods.
“Yes,” I say.
Ten minutes later, I’m sitting in a cramped vinyl booth across from her, watching her devour a pistachio-filled Danish like it’s a religious experience.
Her lipstick is smudged.
There’s a crumb in her hair.
She hasn’t looked at her phone once.
And I’ve never been more fucked.
I take a bite. And, okay, it’s objectively good. Maybe even phenomenal. Still—
“You’re aware that the ceiling in here is crumbling.”
She rolls her eyes. “It adds character.”
“And the lights are fluorescent.”
“So we see the pastries better.”
I lean back and watch her lick cream off her fingertip like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“I can’t believe you eat here.”
“I don’t.” She shakes her head. “Not often. Only when something’s worth celebrating.”
“What are we celebrating?”
She looks up and gives me that smile of hers. I can’t quite decide whether she’s pitying me or just tired.
“I went out. I wore a dress. I danced. That’s worth a Danish.”
She is a puzzle to me. And that is infuriating and intriguing at the same time. “You’re hard to read.”
She grins. “You’re not.” She tears off another piece of pastry and pops it into her mouth.
The bell over the door chimes, and two college kids stumble in, laughing. The bakery hums with low conversation, and the scent of sugar and yeast and something deep-fried. Outside, a bus screeches by.
She stands and dusts off her hands. “Well. That was unexpectedly civil. And kind of… nice?”
I follow her out into the night, still unsure how I ended up in this part of the city, eating pastries with a woman who doesn’t see me. Not really. Not the way most women do.
A woman who has no idea she’s the most captivating thing I’ve seen in years.
We walk in silence. The kind of silence that feels peaceful. Maybe we’re just both tired. Or perhaps we exhausted all the topics.
I don’t need to fill it, though. It’s a real moment that doesn’t require trying.
No double-takes. No coy smiles. No sideways glances inviting me to make my move.
Just the two of us walking down the street until we reach her building. A bit too soon if you ask me.
Cora turns to me. “Thanks for the sugar.”
“Anytime.”
I step closer. More on autopilot. There needs to be a kiss after an evening like this. I think.
When was the last time I walked a woman to her door? Never. What are the expectations here?
She clearly doesn’t want to sleep with me. I’ll lick my wounds later.
I don’t want to screw this up. Why do I care? Fuck if I know.
She licks her lips, and her gaze softens as she looks up at me, that almost-smile gone now. Her eyes shine with… Is it an invitation?
Everything goes still as I lean down slightly. But I don’t close the distance. Cora Winslow feels like an all-or-nothing girl.
And I’m not ready for all. “Goodnight, Cora.”
She tilts her head sideways again, studying me like I’m a half-finished puzzle she doesn’t trust enough to solve. Like she is surprised I didn’t kiss her. Or I’m projecting.
Just because I can have something doesn’t mean I want it.
“Why did you take me out, Xander?”
“I don’t know,” I admit.
She studies me for a moment longer and then nods once. “Goodnight, Stone.”
I watch her go inside and close the door.
She disappears into an elevator, and the lights die, and I still stand there, watching the darkness like a fucking idiot.
Still not having kissed her.
Still wanting to.