Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Colton
Sunday mornings are usually silent.
They’re the quiet aftermath of a week spent holding everything together. No alarms. No pager. No one needing anything from me. I’ve always liked that stillness. I’ve needed it.
But this morning, the silence feels … different. There’s movement in my kitchen.
I wake to the sound of the coffee grinder, the low hum, followed by a soft curse that makes something warm bloom in my chest before I even open my eyes.
Melissa.
I lie there for a moment longer than necessary, staring at the ceiling of my bedroom, listening to the subtle sounds of her moving through my space. Cabinets opening. A mug clinking against the counter. Bare feet padding across hardwood floors that have only ever known mine.
This is new. And yet, instead of feeling trapped by it, I feel … comforted.
When I finally get up, I pull on sweatpants and walk toward the kitchen doorway.
She’s standing at the counter with her back to me, wearing one of my shirts.
It’s an old gray one that I usually sleep in when I’m too tired to care.
It hangs off her shoulder, the hem brushing mid-thigh, sleeves too long for her arms.
My shirt. My kitchen. My Sunday morning.
She turns when she hears me, smiling immediately.
“Good morning,” she says softly, like this is normal.
It shouldn’t be.
“You didn’t have to make coffee,” I say.
She shrugs, lifting a mug. “I wanted to.”
Something about the simplicity of that answer hits me harder than it should.
She hands me a cup like she’s done it a hundred times before, then leans back against the counter, sipping hers. Her hair is loose, still slightly messy from sleep. There’s no makeup. No armor.
Just Melissa.
I take a drink, watching her over the rim. This … this is the part I never planned for. Not the sex. Not the heat. This quiet intimacy that feels like it’s always existed.
“I hope this is okay,” she adds lightly. “I kind of … helped myself.”
“It’s fine,” I say too quickly.
She smiles like she notices.
We stand here for a moment, comfortable, unhurried. The city stretches beyond the windows, bathed in soft morning light. Manhattan looks almost gentle from up here.
“You look very at home,” I say.
She laughs. “In your clothes or your penthouse?”
“Both.”
Her smile falters a fraction. Not fear really … maybe awareness.
I step closer, brushing my thumb along her hip absent-mindedly. “You okay?”
She nods. “Yeah. Just … this is new.”
“It is,” I agree.
Something sits unspoken between us. Maybe the knowledge that neither of us promised anything, and yet we’re standing here like people who might.
The doorbell rings, breaking the spell between us.
Melissa startles slightly as her eyes widen. “Are you expecting someone?”
“No.” I frown.
The doorbell rings again, followed immediately by a familiar voice echoing faintly through the hall.
“Colton! I know you’re awake. Your lights are on!”
I freeze.
Melissa looks at me. “That sounded … confident.”
I exhale slowly. “That would be my sister.”
Her eyes brighten. “You have a sister?”
“Yes,” I say carefully. “And she does not believe in privacy.”
The doorbell rings again, then turns into knocking.
“I’m coming,” I call out, already moving toward the door.
Melissa follows a step behind me, tugging the hem of my shirt down like she suddenly remembers she’s wearing it. The sight sends an irrational surge of possessiveness through me.
When I open the door, Aubrey barrels in like a force of nature.
“Finally,” she says, sweeping past me. “I thought you’d died in here.”
She stops dead when she sees Melissa.
“Oh,” she says. Then her face lights up. “Ohhhh.”
Melissa stiffens, then offers a polite smile. “Hi.”
Aubrey turns to me slowly. “You did not tell me you had a beautiful woman in your apartment.”
“Aubrey,” I warn.
She ignores me completely, already stepping toward Melissa. “I’m Aubrey. His sister. And you must be …”
“Melissa,” she says, shaking Aubrey’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Aubrey beams. “Oh my God, I love her.”
Melissa laughs, instantly at ease. “You don’t know me.”
“No, trust me,” Aubrey says, “if my brother let you wear his clothes, you’re already winning.”
I clear my throat. “We’re having coffee.”
“Oh good,” Aubrey says. “I’ll have some.”
She walks straight into the kitchen like she owns the place.
Melissa glances at me, amused. “She seems … self-assured.”
“She’s relentless,” I say.
Aubrey pours herself coffee, then leans against the counter, studying Melissa openly. “So,” she says, “how did you meet?”
I open my mouth.
“Work,” Melissa answers smoothly.
Aubrey’s brows lift. “Oh?”
I shoot her a look. She catches it and smiles.
“Well,” Aubrey says lightly, “that explains a lot.”
Melissa tilts her head. “Explains what?”
“Why he’s been insufferable lately,” Aubrey replies.
“Aubrey,” I say sharply.
She holds up her hands. “What? I’m being complimentary.”
Melissa’s gaze flicks between us. She notices—I can tell.
Aubrey softens, turning back to Melissa. “I’m teasing. Mostly.” She pauses, then adds gently, “My brother doesn’t let many people in.”
Melissa’s smile falters.
Aubrey looks at me. There’s an unspoken history there. Boundaries. Warnings.
I give her a subtle shake of my head.
Don’t.
She presses her lips together, then nods.
Melissa pretends not to notice, but she does. I can feel it. Instead of panic, relief settles into my chest.
Relief.
Which, in a backward way, is terrifying because this was never the plan.
And standing here, watching my sister laugh with the woman wearing my shirt in my kitchen on a Sunday morning, I realize the truth I’ve been avoiding.
Not only am I straying from the original plan.
I might already be lost.
Aubrey laughs at something Melissa said, bright and unfiltered, and for a moment, I’m watching a reality I didn’t build.
Melissa is leaning against my kitchen island like she belongs there. My sister is across from her with her elbows on the marble, talking with that effortless warmth she can summon, even when she was furious with me two minutes earlier.
Aubrey has always been able to do that—pull people in. She can make them feel safe, make them forget they were guarded in the first place.
Melissa is letting herself be pulled in.
“So,” Aubrey says, pivoting with the ease of someone who’s learned how to navigate land mines, “you two work together?”
Melissa nods. “Same floor. Same department.”
Aubrey’s brows lift. “That sounds … intense.”
“It is,” Melissa says with a small laugh. “But it’s also kind of perfect for me.”
“Perfect how?” Aubrey asks.
Melissa glances down at her mug, then back up. “It’s … meaningful. I wanted to be somewhere that mattered.”
My skin heats up.
Aubrey’s expression softens immediately. “That’s … really admirable.”
Melissa smiles, appreciative but careful. Like she’s deciding how much she wants to say in front of my sister. “It’s been good. Hard. But good.”
Aubrey turns her attention to me with a pointed look. “See? She’s good.”
I narrow my eyes. “You don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, I know exactly what I’m talking about,” she says, then leans toward Melissa conspiratorially. “He’s been a nightmare lately.”
Melissa’s lips twitch. “He’s … intense.”
“Intense?” Aubrey repeats, delighting in the restraint of that word. “That’s polite.”
“Aubrey,” I warn … again.
She waves a hand. “I’m not saying anything that isn’t true.”
Melissa sips her coffee to hide a smile. “He’s been better recently.”
Aubrey freezes. “Oh?”
I feel her sudden interest, the way she latches on to that detail like a dog spotting a dropped steak.
“Better?” Aubrey asks. “What changed?”
Melissa’s gaze flicks to me for a beat too long.
She answers smoothly anyway, “I think he’s … letting the staff breathe a little more.”
Aubrey’s eyes slide to me. “Is that what you’re calling it?”
I shoot her a look that should freeze her vocal cords.
She smiles innocently.
Melissa’s gaze moves between us again, and I can practically hear her brain turning.
What aren’t they saying?
Melissa tilts her head. “How often do you two see each other?”
Aubrey makes a face. “Not often enough. He avoids family events unless I drag him. He’s like”—she pauses dramatically— “an emotionally constipated billionaire.”
“Aubrey,” I snap.
Melissa coughs, laughing into her mug.
Aubrey grins at my reaction. “What? You want me to lie?”
“No,” I say tightly. “I want you to stop talking.”
Aubrey leans closer to Melissa again, lowering her voice in a way that’s meant to be private and fails immediately. “You should know he used to be fun,” she says.
Melissa’s brows rise. “He did?”
“Yes,” Aubrey insists. “A long time ago. Before he decided emotions were an inconvenience and joy was a liability.”
I feel my jaw lock.
She straightens slowly, and for the first time since walking in, her smile falters.
There it is.
The edge of something real.
She looks at Melissa—really looks at her—and her voice softens. “He just …” She stops, swallowing. “He’s been through a lot.”
I don’t move. Melissa doesn’t either.
The air changes in the kitchen, like the temperature dropped two degrees.
Aubrey’s eyes flick to me, and I give her that look again. Harder this time.
Aubrey holds my gaze for long enough that Melissa can’t miss it.
Melissa’s mouth parts slightly, like she might ask a question.
Instead, I see her filing it away. The small, careful part of her that learned how to read rooms when life got complicated is awake now.
Aubrey clears her throat and forces brightness back into the place. “Anyway, it’s none of my business. I’m just happy he’s not … alone all the time.”
A sharp pain pinches my chest. That’s the truth under her teasing.
I’ve been alone for so long that my sister treats it like a personality trait.
Melissa sets her mug down softly. “Do you want more coffee?” she offers Aubrey, as if giving everyone something simple to hold on to.