Chapter 22 The Way He Looks
The Way He Looks
Sabrina
My apartment has never been this loud.
Boxes scrape across the floor. Tape rips. Nathan’s narrating everything like it’s a sporting event, and Matthew—sweet, quiet Matthew, who I met approximately twenty minutes ago—is trying very hard not to touch anything without permission.
And then there’s Langston.
He’s standing in the middle of my living room like a general overseeing a battlefield, sleeves rolled up, jacket tossed over a chair, eyes tracking every movement like something precious might get damaged if he blinks.
Which is ridiculous.
And also… kind of wonderful.
I’m perched on the arm of the couch, hugging my knees, watching them move through my space—my things being folded into his life—and I keep replaying the moment from five minutes ago.
Matthew had reached for the stack of notebook and papers on my coffee table. The ones covered in messy handwriting, half-formed ideas, crossed-out names. My nonprofit plans. My heart, basically.
Before I could even open my mouth, Langston had already stepped in.
“Careful,” he’d said sharply, moving closer. “Those stay together. Same order. Don’t bend the pages.”
Matthew had frozen. “Oh—sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Langston interrupted, calmer now but no less intense. “Just don’t mix them up.”
I’d stared at him, stunned.
Because he hadn’t pushed my thoughts to the side.
He’d just… cared. Enough to notice. Enough to protect something that mattered to me. The memory makes my chest ache in that quiet, dangerous way.
Nathan catches my expression and grins. “He’s intense, huh?”
I shrug, trying to play it cool. “That’s one word for it.”
Langston turns at the sound of our voices. His gaze lands on me, softening instantly, like the room recalibrates the second he sees I’m okay.
“You doing all right, sweetheart?” he asks.
Sweetheart.
The word still does something to me. Still makes me feel claimed in a way that doesn’t scare me—just steadies me.
“I’m fine,” I say. “You’re the one micromanaging.”
“I’m being thorough,” he replies, unapologetic.
Matthew snorts quietly. Nathan laughs outright.
“Dude, did you see yourself with the notebooks?” Nathan says. “You looked like you were guarding crown jewels.”
Langston doesn’t deny it. He just holds my gaze and says, “Those matter.”
And somehow, that lands harder than anything else he could’ve said.
The guys keep packing, the noise settling into a rhythm, and I let myself sit there and feel it.
The chaos. The laughter. The strange, terrifying, exhilarating truth that I’m letting these people into my life.
Letting him in.
Langston crosses the room, stopping in front of me. He reaches out—not to pull me up, not to rush me—but just to rest his hand on my knee.
“You ready?” he asks quietly.
I glance around my apartment. At the empty shelves. The bare walls. The life I’m folding up into boxes.
Then I look back at him.
“Yeah,” I say, surprised to realize I mean it.
His thumb brushes lightly against my skin, like a promise.
And for the first time since all of this started, I think—
Maybe this isn’t something I’m being dragged into.
Maybe it’s something I’m choosing.
The drive is quieter than I expect.
Langston’s car hums beneath us, the city falling away as trees and long stretches of road replace concrete. Nathan and Matthew follow behind in the truck, headlights steady in the rearview mirror. Knowing they’re there makes this feel less like a leap and more like… momentum.
I’ve been to Langston’s house before. I remember the calm of it. The way it feels tucked away from the world.
That’s why the cars catch my eye immediately.
Three of them. Parked near the drive. Definitely not there last time.
I glance out the window, then back at Langston. “There are more cars than usual.”
His grip tightens on the steering wheel—just slightly. Enough for me to notice.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “That’s not what I expected.”
He slows as we pull in, scanning the scene like he’s already figuring out how to manage it. Then he turns to me, concern written all over his face.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “The guys knew you were moving in. I didn’t think they’d all show up at once.”
That’s when it hits me—this isn’t about control.
It’s about him worrying how this lands on me.
“It’s okay,” I say gently. “Really.”
His shoulders ease just a little.
We get out together, and before I can take more than two steps, the truck pulls in behind us. Nathan hops out first, already grinning, while Matthew follows, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
The front door opens and two little girls burst out.
“Uncle Lang!” they yell together.
Langston laughs, crouching just in time to catch them both as they crash into him. He wraps his arms around them, pretending to stagger.
“There are my Firecrackers,” he says warmly. “You trying to take me out before dinner?”
They giggle and talk over each other, and I feel something soften in my chest watching him with them.
A shorter woman dressed in a Taylor Swift shirt and jeans steps into view behind them, smiling when she sees me. “You must be Sabrina.”
Before I can answer, Matthew pipes up, “She is. And—I met her first.”
Nathan snorts. “Congratulations. Want a medal?”
“I’m serious,” Matthew says, pointing at me. “I helped move her stuff. I’m basically family now.”
Langston shakes his head. “You helped move boxes.”
“Boxes that belonged to your wife,” Matthew shoots back. “Huge difference.”
“I’m Remi.” She rolls her eyes. She steps forward, pulling me into an easy hug. “Welcome. We’ve been dying to meet you.”
Inside, the house is full—but not overwhelming. Langston’s friends are scattered through the space like this is exactly where they’re meant to be. Laughter, teasing, familiarity.
Langston’s hand finds mine again, grounding.
“I didn’t mean to throw you into this,” he murmurs near my ear.
I squeeze his fingers. “You didn’t.”
Because standing here—watching his friends rib him, his nieces cling to him, seeing how naturally he moves among them—I don’t feel ambushed.
I feel… included.
And that realization sneaks up on me quietly, settling somewhere deep.
This isn’t just his house.
It’s his life.
And somehow, I’ve stepped right into the middle of it without falling apart.
Somehow, I get swept into it.
One minute I’m standing near the kitchen island trying to stay out of the way, and the next there are pizza boxes everywhere, voices overlapping, and someone—Nathan, I think—handing me a plate like I’ve always belonged here.
Pizza.
I glance at the boxes stacked on the counter, the smell filling the house, and I can’t help the small smile that tugs at my mouth. These men—successful, powerful, the kind of people who own boardrooms and skyline views—and they’re arguing about toppings like it’s life or death.
Langston catches my look. “What?” he asks.
“I just didn’t expect… this,” I admit, gesturing vaguely. “Pizza.”
He shrugs easily. “Mabel’s with her grandkids tonight. This felt right.”
Right.
That word again.
I watch him move through the room—checking on everyone, making sure plates are passed around, refilling drinks without being asked. He’s relaxed in a way I’ve never seen him before, laughing at Nathan’s running commentary, rolling his eyes when Harvey grunts something disapproving.
It feels… real.
My attention drifts to Remi and Coleman without meaning to. They’re sitting close, her shoulder tucked into his side like it’s second nature. He hands her a napkin before she even realizes she needs one. She leans into him, murmuring something that makes his mouth curve into a soft, private smile.
The sight hits me unexpectedly hard.
My chest tightens, that quiet ache blooming right behind my ribs.
Will I ever have that?
Not just comfort. Not just safety.
But that kind of certainty.
That kind of being chosen without question.
I don’t realize I’ve been staring until Remi’s eyes meet mine. Her expression softens instantly.
A moment later, she’s at my side, gently tugging my arm. “Come with me for a second.”
She leads me into the next room, away from the noise. “You okay?” she asks, not unkind, just honest.
I hesitate, then nod. Shake my head and sigh.
“I think so,” I say. “It’s just… seeing you and Coleman.” I gesture vaguely, embarrassed. “You two are… you’re really in love.”
Her smile turns knowing. “We are.”
“I hope,” I admit quietly, “that someday someone looks at me the way he looks at you.”
Remi laughs softly—not mocking, just warm—and my brow furrows. “What?”
She reaches out, squeezing my hand. “Girly, someone already does.”
My breath catches. “What do you mean?”
She tilts her head toward the doorway. “Look.”
I turn.
Langston’s standing across the room, half-leaning against the counter, talking to Harvey—but his eyes aren’t on the conversation.
They’re on me.
Focused. Intent. Like the rest of the room has faded away.
When our eyes meet, his mouth curves into a slow smile. Not arrogant. Not playful.
Just… certain.
Then he winks.
Heat blooms low in my stomach, my pulse skipping hard enough that I have to look away.
Remi chuckles. “Told you.”
I swallow, my chest suddenly too full, my heart beating a little too fast.