Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Sawyer
Somewhere along the way, the arrangement stopped feeling temporary.
I can’t pinpoint the moment it changed.
Maybe it was the third night she fell asleep in my bed and I didn’t move her.
Or perhaps the first time I woke up from a nightmare and realized she was already there, running her fingers through my hair and telling me to breathe.
Maybe it was something smaller, like the way my coffee machine started making two cups every morning instead of one.
Either way, another month passes before I really stop and notice how much things have changed.
Kayla lives here now. Not officially, but in every way that matters.
Her laptop is permanently stationed at the kitchen island. Her notebooks are scattered across the living room. Half the fridge is filled with whatever random snacks she decided she needed for “creative inspiration.”
I walk into the kitchen early Sunday morning to find her standing in front of the refrigerator again with the door wide open. Staring inside like the contents might rearrange themselves if she looks hard enough.
“You know,” I say, leaning against the counter, “the food doesn’t multiply if you keep the door open.”
She glances over her shoulder. “I’m evaluating.”
“You’ve been evaluating for three minutes.”
“This is an important decision.”
I watch her pull out a yogurt and shut the door.
Her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy knot, and she’s wearing one of my T-shirts that definitely didn’t belong to her a month ago.
At some point, she stopped asking before stealing my clothes. She hops up onto one of the stools and starts eating.
“You’re staring again,” she says casually. “Very creepy.”
I shrug. “You were the one conducting a full investigation of the refrigerator.”
She smiles faintly.
For a few minutes, we sit there in comfortable silence. It’s strange how normal it feels because normal has never really been my thing.
The nightmares still come.
Not every night, but often enough.
When they do, Kayla wakes up before I’m fully out of them … every time. With her hand in my hair, her voice low and steady, telling me to breathe. Somehow, it works. The panic fades faster now.
That should concern me more than it does because the more I get used to that, the harder it’s going to be to go back to sleeping alone.
Kayla finishes the yogurt and slides the container across the counter.
“So,” she says, “I saw an apartment in the Village yesterday.”
My shoulders tense automatically. “Kayla.”
“What?”
“You’re not moving out.”
She rolls her eyes. “I can’t live here forever.”
“I’m very persuasive.”
She laughs. “You’re impossible.”
I don’t answer. The truth is, I haven’t let myself think about what will happen when she leaves.
Not really. It’s easier to pretend that conversation doesn’t exist.
Kayla studies me for a second. She scoots off the stool, grabbing her coffee.
I know I need to talk to her—really talk to her. I need to confess my feelings. But I’ve never done this before, and every time I try to, I freeze.
By late afternoon, I’m already halfway dressed when I walk back into the kitchen.
Kayla is sitting at the island with her laptop open again.
Her hair has escaped the knot on top of her head, and strands keep falling into her face. She blows them away without looking up.
The refrigerator door is open again. Of course it is. I grab a bottle of water and shut it.
“You do realize refrigerators work better when they’re closed?”
She keeps typing. “Creative people require constant snacks.”
“You’ve eaten three yogurts today.”
“Research.”
“For what?”
She finally looks up. “The psychology of dairy.”
I shake my head and finish buttoning my shirt.
It’s Sunday, which means dinner at my parents’ house. Normally, I’d be out the door already, but tonight, something makes me hesitate.
Kayla finally notices. “You’re hovering.”
“I’m not hovering.”
“You’ve been standing there, staring at me for a full minute.”
I rub the back of my neck. “Family dinner.”
Her hands pause over the keyboard. “Oh.”
The reaction is subtle, but I catch it.
“You wanna come again?” I ask.
She raises an eyebrow. “Won’t that invite questions?”
“I can handle questions.”
Her lips curve slowly. “You like me.”
I don’t answer because the answer is far more complicated than I’m ready to admit.
“I’m not going to beg.”
She laughs. “Fine. I’d love to come. I’ll go get changed.”
* * *
An hour later, we’re walking into my parents’ house. The smell of cheese and homemade pasta hits immediately.
Voices echo through the kitchen. Someone is laughing at the same time others are arguing about something.
Typical Sunday.
Brooklyn spots us. “Well, look who decided to show up.”
Kayla laughs. “Well, last time, I ate the best food I’ve ever had.”
“That’s the right motivation,” Brooklyn says, already pulling her toward the table.
Within minutes, Kayla is sitting between Hudson and Livia, like she’s always been part of the chaos.
Cole starts telling a story about a disaster in the restaurant kitchen earlier that week. Hudson interrupts halfway through. Brooklyn argues with both of them. Kayla jumps into the conversation easily, laughing and asking questions. Teasing Hudson about his terrible storytelling.
I lean back in my chair and watch. Something strange happens.
I notice that she fits completely.
My mom slides another plate toward her, like she’s feeding a daughter instead of a guest.
Brooklyn has already turned her chair sideways so they can talk easier.
Even my dad is smiling at something Kayla says about restaurant customers.
No awkwardness or distance. It’s like she belongs here. The realization sits heavy in my chest.
Cole notices where I’m looking. His gaze follows mine across the table.
Then he grins. “Oh, he’s screwed.”
I glance at him. “What?”
Hudson laughs. “You like her.”
“That’s not—”
“Don’t bother denying it,” Cole says. “We’ve known you your whole life.”
Hudson leans back in his chair. “You’re falling for her.”
The words land harder than they should. For a second, I can’t even argue.
I glance across the table again. Kayla is laughing at something Brooklyn just said, completely unaware of the conversation happening on this end.
Her hair has fallen loose from the ponytail she had earlier. Her eyes are bright, and something shifts quietly in my chest.
Something I’ve been ignoring for weeks.
Cole’s right. Hudson’s right. They’re all right.
I’m completely screwed.
Somewhere along the way … I fell for her.
The thought should scare the hell out of me. Instead, I just sit there, watching her laugh, and realize something else.
I don’t want this to end.
Not the late nights, the mornings in my kitchen, or the way she curls against me when she falls asleep.
For the first time in a long time, the idea of actually letting someone stay doesn’t feel like a mistake.
It feels possible. And somehow, that possibility matters more than the fear does now.