Chapter 16 #2
I stare at the screen for a second too long, my thumb hovering like I might pick it up, like I might answer, like I might let her pull me back into something I’ve been trying to stay out of.
Then I flip it over.
Face down.
“Not getting that?” Dex asks, his eyes studying me, knowing.
I shrug. “Later.”
The phone buzzes again, more insistent this time, and I don’t touch it.
Silence stretches between us, quieter now, heavier, and I can feel his attention shift even without looking at him.
“You avoiding someone?” he asks.
My fingers tighten in the blanket.
I could lie.
I should lie.
But something about the way he says it stops me. There’s no edge to it, no push, no expectation. Just… awareness. Like he’s paying attention in a way I’m not used to.
“Yeah,” I say quietly, keeping my eyes on the TV. “Mama’s not… herself right now.”
The words settle between us, heavier than I expected.
He shifts slightly beside me, but he doesn’t ask anything else, doesn’t push, doesn’t pry.
And somehow, that lands harder than if he had.
I focus back on the screen, even though I’m not really seeing it.
“I’m sorry you’re going through this.” He nods toward my phone when it finally stops vibrating with incoming calls.
I swallow the knot in my throat. “It is what it is…” is all I manage to say.
“Tony Stark is overrated,” I add, just to fill the silence, just to pull us back into something easier.
Dex lets out a low chuckle. “Careful, Tinker.”
“Oh please,” I say, turning slightly toward him. “He’s arrogant, reckless, and thinks he’s untouchable.”
Dex raises a brow. “Sound like anyone you know?”
I narrow my eyes. “Yes.”
That smirk spreads across his face, slow and confident, like he knows exactly what I mean and doesn’t care.
Yeah .
Definitely like someone I know.
After that, the conversation slips into something easier, lighter, the kind that doesn’t require thinking too hard.
We fall into a rhythm without really noticing it, tossing comments back and forth, arguing over scenes, picking apart characters like it matters, like we’re not just filling space but actually sharing it.
And somewhere in the middle of that, something in me loosens.
Just enough.
My shoulders drop, my breathing evens out, and I stop tracking every inch between us like it’s something I need to control.
Until something funny happens on screen and I laugh, the sound slipping out of me before I can stop it.
It surprises me enough that I glance at him.
He’s already looking at me.
Like he was waiting for it.
Like he didn’t expect it either, and now that it’s there, he doesn’t quite know what to do with it.
My chest tightens.
I look back at the screen too quickly, pulling the blanket tighter around me, trying to ignore the way that look lingers longer than it should.
And trying very hard not to think about how easy it would be to lean just a little closer.
? ? ?
Dexter
It’s seven p.m., and we’ve just finished Iron Man 2 . I glance at Lexy as she stretches, her back arching, eyes closed, and the sound she makes slips out soft and unguarded.
Something in me tightens before I can stop it.
Yeah. No.
I’m not going there.
Not thinking about her making that sound when…
Stop.
I drag a hand over my jaw and push the thought down, forcing myself to stand before it gets any further than that.
“Break before we watch Thor ? Or you want to continue tomorrow?” I ask.
I want to keep going, but sitting here like this, with her this close, isn’t doing me any favors.
“And do what?” she says, smug. “Knit?”
She laughs, looking entirely too pleased with herself. “Do I look like someone who knits to you?”
No. She looks like…
I cut that off before it can fully form and shake my head.
Focus.
“You look like Tinker to me,” I say instead, turning toward the fridge and finding it empty.
Right. We had sandwiches earlier and didn’t think past that.
“I’ll grab something from the bar kitchen downstairs,” I say. “Want anything in particular?”
She stands, crouching to pet Marvel, fingers disappearing into his fur as he immediately leans into her.
“You cooking for me?” she asks, glancing up.
I nod.
“Then surprise me,” she says, that smirk tugging at her mouth again.
“Alright.”
I head toward the door, then pause, glancing back at her.
“But what do fairies eat?”
The pillow comes flying. I catch it just before it hits my face.
“Bastard,” she mutters.
I chuckle all the way downstairs.
Cooking helps.
It gives my hands something to do, something solid to focus on instead of the way she looked at me just now, or the way she sounded, or the fact that she’s upstairs in my apartment like she belongs there.
Like she’s staying.
I take my time with it, longer than necessary, making sure everything’s right before heading back up.
When I set the plates down, Lexy’s eyes widen.
“You can cook?”
“I try,” I say. “My mom made sure we knew the basics. Said we should cook for our family and not expect our spouses to be our maids.”
Her expression softens, something warmer settling there. “I like your mom.”
“Most people do,” I say, a hint of a smile slipping through.
We eat at the island, talking about Marvel theories, arguing over Easter eggs, throwing out predictions for movies that haven’t even come out yet, and it all slips into something easy without either of us trying too hard.
Too easy.
“Let’s skip Thor ,” Lexy says.
I turn toward her. “What? No. I love that one.”
She rolls her eyes.
“Why would you skip it?”
She thinks for a second. “Thor’s a spoiled prince,” she says. “And I don’t like him.”
I raise a brow. “Most women do. Especially for… other reasons.”
Her mouth twitches, but she shrugs. “I’m not most women.”
Something shifts in my chest at that, quiet but noticeable.
Yeah.
No, she’s not.
My eyes drop to her mouth before I catch myself, the curve of it, the way it moves when she talks, the way I’ve been noticing it more than I should.
I force my gaze away.
“You’re right,” I say, leaning back slightly. “Fairies are a whole different breed.”
She narrows her eyes at me and throws a piece of bread. I catch it in my mouth, and she groans.
“I’m calling you Pan. As in Peter Pan. Starting now.”
I smirk. “I don’t mind that, Tinker.”
She rolls her eyes, and I top off her soda as I chuckle under my breath.
Teasing her shouldn’t be this entertaining.
But it is.
We settle back on the couch, Marvel wedged comfortably between us as Thor starts playing.
My phone buzzes, but I ignore it.
Then it buzzes again.
And again.
I sigh and pick it up.
Group chat.
Of course.
Ethan: Everyone safe and inside?
Grace: Yep.
Cas: Just got back. Been out all day making sure no one was stranded.
Ethan: Anyone hurt?
Cas: No. Just helped Mrs. Mayfair secure some windows. I’m on call, though.
Jace: No snow here in Texas ??
Grace: Lucky SOB
Jude: Animals are all safe here.
Penny: So… @Dex you’re stranded in your apartment with Lexy… ??
Summer: Ooooh forced proximity! I love that trope!
Jace: What the hell is a trope?
Jace: Way to go, big bro. No work and a gorgeous woman all to yourself 24/7.
I exhale through my nose.
Dex: It’s not like that
Cas: Isn’t it?
Penny: You and Lexy. Alone. In an apartment. It is like that.
Dex: You’re all delusional!
Jace: Start a video call. I wanna see her.
Dex: She’s not here.
I lie.
Grace: Then prove it.
Dex: I’m on the toilet. Silencing this chat now.
My phone buzzes again in my hand.
“Arguing with someone?”
I look up. Lexy’s watching me, that smirk playing on her lips, full and distracting, that dimple catching just enough light to pull my attention where it shouldn’t go.
I drag my focus back where it belongs.
“Something like that,” I say.
Her smirk deepens.
I look back down at my phone.
Grace: I think he likes her… Dex and Lexy sitting in a tree…
Dex: Wow. Very mature, Grace.
Grace: Weren’t you silencing the chat?
Summer: K-I-S-S-I-N-G
Penny: How romantic!
My jaw tightens as I lock the phone.
I’m done.
I toss it onto the coffee table.
“Lose the argument?” she asks.
I lean back, stretching my arm along the back of the couch again, closer than before without meaning to be. “Didn’t feel like entertaining it.”
“Mm,” she hums, unconvinced.
Silence settles again, softer this time.
I glance at her. She’s looking at the screen, but the corner of her mouth still curves slightly, like she’s holding onto something she’s not saying.
And I become aware of it again.
The space between us.
How little of it there actually is.
How easily it could disappear.
My hand flexes once against the back of the couch, close enough that if either of us moved even a little, it wouldn’t stay that way.
I drag my gaze back to the TV.
Stuck in a snowstorm with Tinker…
I’m in trouble.
And I don’t know if I mind.