nine
The first thing I felt was the cold.
Not sharp or biting-just that kind of low, steady chill that sinks into your skin when a blanket slips off in the middle of the night. My eyes opened slowly to soft gray light. The curtains were only half-drawn, the sky outside a pale blur of early morning.
I was curled up on the couch, Brooks's charcoal one. The throw blanket had fallen to the floor. I pulled it back up and sat up slowly, legs stiff from the way I'd folded into myself. The room was still. A glass of water-half-full-sat on the table in front of me.
For a second, I just stared at it.
Everything from last night played in quiet flashes-walking into the bakery, laughing in the park, his jacket around my shoulders. The way he looked at me like I wasn't just another girl at the club.
And now... this.
I wrapped the blanket tighter and tried to slow my breath.
I hadn't done anything wrong. We didn't even sleep together. We talked. We laughed. It was fine.
But still-I felt exposed. Like I'd said too much or stayed too long or taken something I couldn't give back. Maybe it was the silence. Maybe it was just me.
Downstairs, I heard movement.
Footsteps across the tile. The soft rumble of a man's voice.
I eased myself off the couch and crept toward the edge of the stairs, careful not to let the wood creak beneath me. His voice was clearer now-deep, even, not the way he spoke to me last night. Firmer. More clipped.
"I know, but if I don't go, it's going to look worse."
A pause.
Then: "Yes, I read the memo. Twice. I'll be there. I just don't want to show up like a puppet."
I crouched just high enough to peek around the bannister. He was in the kitchen below, shirt wrinkled from sleep but tucked in now, tie draped over his shoulder. Coffee steamed from a mug in his hand.
"No, I'm not bringing anyone," he said into the phone. "It's not that kind of thing. I'll shake the hands, smile for the photos, but I'm not dragging someone into that mess for optics."
Another pause. This one longer.
Then softer, "No, Mom. I'm fine."
Mom?
He leaned against the counter, sighing into the phone. "I didn't do anything stupid. I just needed to not be alone last night."
Something in my chest tightened, but I didn't move.
"I'm not a liability," he said, a little quieter now. "I just wanted to breathe."
There was a beat of silence-one of those long, familiar ones where the other person is talking and you just let them. Then he gave a quiet laugh. "Yeah. I know. I'll be there by ten."
He clicked the call off and set the phone down beside his mug.
I pulled back from the stairs before he could look up.
Retreated to the couch like I hadn't moved at all.
And waited.
Blanket around my shoulders. Questions piling quietly in my head.
I figured his parents had good careers for him to be so well off.
I heard his steps before I saw him.
The quiet creak of the stairwell, slow and unhurried. I sat up straighter on the couch, brushing a hand through my hair, suddenly aware of how I must look-makeup halfway worn off, my sweatpants wrinkled from sleep.
Brooks appeared at the top of the stairs, a fresh cup of coffee in one hand, the other tucking his phone into his back pocket. He paused when he saw me, eyes softening just slightly.
"You're up."
"Yeah," I murmured, voice still a little hushed from sleep. "Didn't mean to crash like that."
He smiled, moving toward me. "You looked comfortable. I didn't want to wake you."
I gave a small shrug. "I honestly don't remember falling asleep."
He laughed at that, the sound warm. "You want coffee?"
"Sure if you have any left."
He set his mug down on the table, moved back toward the kitchen without making it a whole thing. When he returned, he handed me a fresh cup-hands careful not to spill.
"Thank you," I said, taking it with both hands. The warmth felt grounding.
He didn't sit right away. Just stood in front of the couch for a moment like he was reading the room.
"You sleep okay?" he asked.
I nodded, unsure if that was entirely true.
He dropped onto the couch beside me, not too close. Just enough.
"You look so serious," he teased.
I huffed a laugh. "Just trying to figure out if I overstayed my welcome."
"You didn't."
He said it quick, easy. Like it wasn't even a question in his mind.
"Okay," I said softly, looking down at my cup.
We sat like that for a moment-quiet, the city already up outside the window. The sky had shifted from gray to pale blue. A few cars passed below, too far down to hear.
"Its already twelve. Do you have plans today?" he asked, still looking at me.
I shook my head. "Not really. I mean I'm going to the club later, but none besides that.You?"
He hesitated for a beat. "Yeah. Some family stuff. Nothing exciting."
I looked over. "That why you were whispering downstairs?"
He smirked, caught. "I didn't want to wake you."
"It didn't I was going down there and then I heard you whispering."
He nodded. "I work for my family's company, so we just have a work event tonight. Nothing too big or important."
I didn't press. I wasn't sure I wanted to know more yet.
"You don't have to rush out," he said after a moment. "You can hang for a bit. Rest. No pressure."
It was such a small offer. But it felt big.
"Okay," I said, and I meant it.
He leaned back into the couch, head tipping toward me slightly. "For what it's worth," he said, quieter now, "I really liked last night."
I looked over at him, and for the first time that morning, I felt the corner of my mouth lift just a little.
"Me too." I did a onceover of his face taking in everything and he really was a handsome guy.
A handsome guy who basically paid me ten thousand to talk to him all night.
"I should probably head out though," I sat the mug down standing to my feet.
The words came out faster than I expected.
I didn't even know what I was doing until I was already doing it-pulling the blanket off, smoothing my sweatshirt, grabbing my bag from the floor like I needed to be somewhere.
But I didn't.
I just... needed out.
My heart had started to move in that way it sometimes did-like it knew something I didn't. My stomach felt weightless, but not in the good way. The kind of weightless that comes before a drop. Like a rollercoaster right before the descent.
I could still feel how easy last night was. How nice the couch was. How warm the coffee felt in my hand.
But none of that made it easier.
Something about being seen in the morning light-bare-faced, quiet, vulnerable-set off alarms I couldn't fully explain. It wasn't him. Not really. It was just... everything.
Too much good at once. Too much quiet after the noise.
Brooks stood slowly, brows lifting.
"You sure?" he asked, voice still low. "You don't have to rush."
I shook my head, already halfway to the stairs. "Yeah, no-I'm fine. I just wanna get home, shower, maybe nap before work."
He followed, not close, just enough to meet me at the bottom step.
"Let me have Monte take you," he offered, hand brushing through his hair. "It's no trouble."
"I'm good," I said quickly. "Really."
He looked at me for a long second.
Not the kind of look that pressed or pried. Just... steady. The same one he gave me last night when I needed space to think before speaking.
I could feel my pulse in my wrists.
His voice came a little gentler this time. "Did I do something?"
That stopped me.
I looked at him-really looked-and hated that part of me that couldn't just relax.
"No," I said, meaning it. "Not at all."
He nodded once, slowly. "Alright."
There was a beat of silence, but it didn't feel heavy. Just still.
I adjusted the strap on my bag, fingers fussing with the hem of my sleeve.
"Thanks for everything," I said, voice a little smaller now.
He smiled softly. "You're welcome."
"I'll see you around or something," I added.
I reached for the door, hesitating a second before pulling it open.
And then I was gone.
The hallway outside felt cooler than it had last night. Brighter, too. The kind of morning light that didn't let you hide. My steps were quick without meaning to be, my chest still buzzing like I'd left something behind I wasn't ready to carry.
Maybe I had.
The ride home was quiet.
I didn't take the bus. I just walked until I found a main street and called a car, letting the silence settle over me like fog.
The city looked different in the daylight-cleaner, sharper. Like the version of it I usually didn't get to see. Everything about last night felt far away, like I'd floated through it instead of lived it.
My apartment was still. Dim. The air inside carried that faint, stale scent of old heat and dryer sheets. I dropped my keys in the bowl by the door, kicked off my slides, and stood there for a second, still holding my bag like I hadn't decided whether I was staying or just passing through.
I finally set it down and walked to the window, pulling the curtain back with two fingers. The street outside looked exactly the same.
Normal.
I pressed my forehead lightly to the glass, letting it cool my skin.
There was no reason for my chest to still feel tight. He didn't ask me for anything. He didn't touch me. I'd been the one who said yes. I'd been the one who stayed.
But still-something about it felt like a line had been crossed.
Or maybe I just wasn't used to kindness that didn't come with conditions.
I let out a slow breath, then turned from the window and grabbed my phone.
It rang twice before Sam picked up.
"Hey," she beamed. "Wait, you know how I feel about people who don't text me when they get home."
"I know," I said. "I'm sorry."
"I got home and seen I never even heard from you." Her tone flipped, suspicious but playful. "What happened with that ten-thousand-dollar dance Tim said you got requested for?"
I hesitated. "Do you remember that guy Brooks?"
There was a beat. "Wait-Brooks? The bachelor party guy?"
"Yeah."
"Oh my God. It was him."