45
They sat in the stillness that followed—two glasses of wine, half full on the coffee table, two hearts toeing the edge of something terrifyingly honest.
Amanda didn't press.
Ericka didn't run.
And maybe that alone was enough to mark this night as different.
After a few minutes, Ericka set her glass down and leaned back, sinking into the cushions with a quiet sigh. Amanda watched her from the corner of her eye, taking in the way her posture softened slightly—as if setting the glass down had released more than just tension in her hand.
"Sometimes," Ericka said suddenly, "I feel like if I stop holding everything together, even for a second, everything will fall apart."
Amanda turned to face her fully, voice soft. "Maybe it won't. Maybe it'll just... fall into place."
Ericka glanced at her. "That's not how things work for me."
"Maybe not in the past," Amanda said. "But what if this time's different?"
Ericka didn't answer right away. Instead, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes for a second, like she was searching for something behind her lids. Courage, maybe. Or permission.
When she opened them again, her gaze landed squarely on Amanda. "You're not afraid of me, are you?"
Amanda blinked, surprised by the question. "Why would I be?"
"Because I'm intense. I push. I shut down when I'm scared, and I keep people at arm's length because it's easier than explaining why I am the way I am."
Amanda smiled gently. "I already figured most of that out."
"And you're still here."
"I'm still here," Amanda echoed. "Because none of that scares me. You're not just the CEO with a spine of steel. You're also the woman who falls asleep with her guard down, who talks in her sleep about deadlines, and who makes me feel like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."
A beat passed between them. Then another.
Ericka's hand moved first—tentative, then sure—reaching for Amanda's. Their fingers slid together effortlessly, like they'd done it a hundred times.
Amanda didn't move. She just smiled and squeezed.
"You're in," Ericka said softly. "Just... be patient with me."
Amanda leaned in, forehead touching hers. "Always."
The kiss that followed wasn't urgent. It wasn't heated or rushed.
It was warm. Certain. A slow exhale of all the things they'd both been holding in.
Ericka wrapped an arm around Amanda's waist and pulled her closer, their glasses forgotten, the weight of unspoken worries momentarily set aside.
Amanda rested her head against Ericka's shoulder, legs curled up beneath her, one hand still gently clasped in Ericka's. Their bodies had shifted naturally into each other, like gravity had a say in it—like they fit this way, in the silence.
For a while, they said nothing. Not because they didn't have things to say—but because this peace was new. And precious.
Amanda let out a slow breath. "You always keep it this quiet in here?"
Ericka glanced down at her. "I like the quiet. It's the only time I can hear myself think."
Amanda smirked. "And yet, you let me come in and fill it."
"You don't fill it," Ericka said, her voice lower now. "You... soften it."
Amanda's heart gave a quiet flutter.
"Okay, now you're getting dangerously close to romantic," she teased, her voice light.
Ericka didn't smile. Not fully. But she did lean in, brushing her lips across Amanda's temple. "Maybe I'm finally ready for a little bit of romantic."
Amanda turned to look at her, their faces just inches apart. "You don't have to be anyone but yourself with me, Ericka. Whatever version that is—quiet, guarded, messy, raw. I can handle it."
"I know," Ericka whispered. "That's what scares me."
Amanda didn't respond with words this time. She just reached up and tucked a stray piece of hair behind Ericka's ear, fingers lingering there just long enough to make it mean something.
"I'm not asking for everything," Amanda said. "Just... this. Just right now."
Ericka leaned in again, slower this time, kissing her with a tenderness that felt brand new. There was no weight behind it—no tension or urgency. Just intent. Just presence.
When they pulled apart, Amanda rested her forehead against Ericka's once more.
"Do you think we'll figure it out?" Amanda asked quietly.
Ericka nodded. "If we keep showing up like this? Yeah. I do."
________________________________________________________
Amanda stirred to the sound of faint birdsong and the warmth of sunlight pushing through the sheer curtains. She blinked slowly, adjusting to the morning light—her body still relaxed, her mind hovering somewhere between dream and waking.
It wasn't until she felt the subtle shift of the bed beside her that everything came back.
Ericka.
Last night.
The quiet closeness. The honesty.
The way they'd fallen asleep wrapped around each other, fully clothed but entirely exposed.
Amanda turned her head.
Ericka lay facing her, eyes still closed, one arm draped lazily across the blanket between them. She looked peaceful. Unburdened. Maybe even a little vulnerable in a way Amanda had never seen at the office.
It made something in Amanda's chest ache—the good kind. The kind that comes with witnessing someone let go.
She didn't want to wake her.
Instead, Amanda shifted quietly out of bed and padded barefoot to the kitchen. She moved around silently, rummaging for coffee. The machine was easy enough to figure out—of course it was top-of-the-line and sleek as hell, because Ericka didn't do "cheap" anything.
She brewed a pot, inhaling the rich scent as it filled the space.
Amanda had just poured two mugs when soft footsteps sounded from the hallway.
She turned.
Ericka stood there, wrapped in a silky gray robe, her hair a tousled mess that somehow still looked intentional. She blinked sleepily at Amanda, then at the mugs in her hands.
Amanda smiled. "I figured if I can keep a photo shoot on schedule, I can manage making you coffee."
Ericka stepped closer, taking the cup without a word. Their fingers brushed. She didn't pull away.
"You stayed," she said, her voice still coated in morning rasp.
"You let me," Amanda replied softly.
They stood across from each other in the kitchen, sipping slowly. The morning buzz of the city was faint but present beyond the windows, but it felt far away—like they were wrapped in a little world of their own.
Ericka glanced over the rim of her mug. "We're going to have to talk about this eventually."
Amanda nodded. "But not right now?"
"Not right now."