Chapter Eighteen
Claire is curled into the corner of the couch, a blanket wrapped around her, her hair slightly messy from sleep, cheeks still faintly flushed from being sick. She looks softer like this, the sharp edges of her usual energy smoothed down.
I lean back in my seat, watching her scroll lazily through her phone.
"What's your favorite dessert," I ask, keeping it light.
She glances up this time, brows pulling together slightly. "Why?"
"Just answer."
She studies me for a second, like she's deciding if this is harmless or not, then exhales softly. "Chocolate lava cake."
"Good choice," I murmur, and I mean it.
That earns me the faintest flicker of a smile before she looks back at her phone.
A few quiet moments pass.
"Favorite movie?"
Now she looks at me fully, a little more curious than suspicious. "You're being weird..."
I huff a quiet laugh. "Answer the question, Claire."
She shifts slightly under the blanket, settling in. "John Wick."
That throws me off. "Huh."
She squints at me. "You sound judgmental."
"It wasn't," I say defensively.
Her lips curve in a small smile before she shakes her head.
"Favorite dinner," I continue.
She takes a deep breath, then lets it out slowly. "You're really committing to this, huh?"
"I am."
She considers it, then answers anyway. "Probably Alfredo. The real kind."
I nod. "Noted."
She watches me for a second longer this time, something thoughtful in her expression. "You're not going to tell me why you're asking, are you?"
"No."
"...okay," she says slowly, like she's choosing not to push.
But she doesn't shut me down. I take progress for what it is.
Around 6:30 in the evening, I guide her outside.
She hesitates at the door, pulling the blanket tighter around herself. "It's cold."
"I brought reinforcements," I say, nodding toward the patio.
She gives me a skeptical look, but she steps out anyway. The space is already set. Soft lights overhead, a blanket waiting on the couch, the table laid out with food that's still warm.
She stops, surprised.
"Julian..."
"Sit," I say gently.
She does slowly, like she's taking it all in instead of bracing against it. I set everything in front of her, one piece at a time.
The creamy pasta and garlic bread with broccoli. And then the chocolate lava cake.
All of her favorites.
She looks at the table, then back at me, her expression shifting in a way that's quieter but deeper than anything she's shown all week.
"You remembered," she says softly.
"I listened."
That gets through to her. I see it in the way her shoulders loosen, just a fraction.
"Thank you," she adds after a second, voice still gentle, still a little careful, but sincere.
Something in my chest tightens at that.
Dinner is perfect with easy flowing conversation.She laughs at something I say, shaking her head, her hand coming up to cover her mouth like she didn't mean to laugh that hard.
"You're actually kind of funny," she admits.
"Kind of? Ooh you like me."
She gives me a look but it's softer now. "I never hated you."
I press a hand to my chest. "I'll take it."
That earns me another quiet laugh. The bond hums low, steady and warm, like it's finally settling into something steadier.
When we finish eating, I stand, brushing my hands together.
"Come here."
She looks up, wary, but not resistant. "Why?"
"Dance with me."
Her nose wrinkles slightly. "I feel like this is where I will embarrass myself."
"I would never let that happen," I say quietly.
She studies me for a second, searching my face like she's trying to decide if she believes me after I publicly humiliated her myself. Then she sighs, softer this time.
"Okay... but if I trip, we're pretending it didn't happen."
"Deal."
She takes my hand with no hesitation this time. I guide her out a few steps, then start the music. It's a fast salsa tune that I've danced to many times.
But as the first chords filter through the air, her eyes widen. "Julian—"
"It's fine," I try to reassure her.
"I don't know how to do this," she whispers.
"I've got you."
That makes her pause. The tension and anxiety on her expression softens. I step closer, one hand settling carefully at her waist, giving her enough space to pull back if she wants to.
She doesn't.
"Just follow my lead," I murmur.
She nods, a little nervous but willing.
We start slow. She's stiff at first, watching her feet, overthinking every step.
"I'm going to step on you," she mutters.
"You're not," I say. She already has.
"I absolutely am."
"You're doing fine." I smile at the top of her head because I can't see her eyes while she looks down at our feet.
I guide her gently through a turn, catching her when she comes back to me.
She exhales a small, surprised laugh. "Okay... that wasn't terrible."
"High praise."
But she's smiling now and relaxing into it, allowing me to guide her instead of fighting it. Her hand settles more comfortably against my chest. My fingers adjust slightly at her waist, grounding and steady.
"Just feel it," I say softly.
She looks up at me and, this time, she lets herself trust it. Her movements smooth out, her body easing into the rhythm, into me, into this moment that doesn't feel so tense anymore.
We're close. Her breath brushes my jaw and her fingers curl lightly into my shirt, gripping me like she trusts me to keep her safe. The bond pulses low and steady, something quiet and alive between us.
She meets my gaze, and there's no sharpness there now.
"Okay," she murmurs, almost to herself. "This is... nice."
My chest tightens.
"Yeah," I say quietly. "It is."
We slow, the movement fading into a gentle sway. For a moment it feels like we're finally meeting somewhere in the middle.
"AYYYYY!"
Claire startles, laughing as she steps back, her hand instinctively catching mine before she lets go.
I close my eyes briefly, pushing down the irritation of being interrupted when we were finally connecting. Abuela stands in the doorway, already delighted.
"Is that salsa I hear?"
Claire laughs under her breath, shaking her head. "We were doing so well..."
"Julian Antonio," Abuela calls, pointing. "You haven't danced in far too long! Especially for someone who used to compete!"
Claire turns to me, eyes wide. "You what?"
I wince.
Now everyone is coming out, and Claire is watching the whole thing unfold with open amusement, her earlier tension completely gone. She settles back onto the couch, wrapping herself in the blanket again as I start to twirl Abuela through a dance.
When I glance back at her between dances she's already looking at me with her expression open and truly there with me.
For the first time all week, it feels like she's not pulling away. It feels like she's starting to test the waters and walk toward me.
Fear paralyzes my heart. I focus on keeping it in my side of the bond and Abuela and Anna switch places and I start to guide Anna through a fast dance.
Our progress isn't happening fast enough. She goes home tomorrow and I don't know what our bond will look like once she's gone.