ten #2
The bus rocked gently as it wound through West Philly, slowing at every stoplight, every kid dragging a bookbag across the street. I slid into a window seat near the back and opened the folder on my lap.
The packet was clean. Neat lines. High-res photos from different angles-even the back alley. Whoever prepped it knew how to sell a dream.
The price sat near the bottom of the third page in bold:
$150,000.
I stared at it for a full minute.
My stomach did a slow turn. Not out of fear exactly, but out of reality. That number didn't just mean buying the space. It meant taxes. Insurance. Permits. Renovation costs. Startup inventory. Branding. Furniture. Marketing. The little stuff no one remembered until it piled up.
I flipped to the financing options. A few suggestions-bank lenders, grants for small business owners, city programs. All of them sounded promising until you got to the fine print.
I chewed the inside of my cheek, fingers gripping the edge of the folder.
How the hell was I supposed to save up that kind of money?
I wasn't delusional-I knew it wouldn't happen overnight. But seeing it in writing made everything feel more... fragile. Like the dream could slip out of reach before it even took shape.
I thought about my tips jar hidden in the back of my closet. The emergency fund I'd dipped into more than once. The ten thousand from Brooks. Still folded up in my bedside drawer like it might burn a hole through the wood.
Could I really use that?
My jaw tensed. My eyes drifted to the window, to the blur of familiar blocks passing by. I wasn't sure if it was ambition or desperation-or some tight knot of both-but I knew I couldn't go back to dancing forever.
This place, Evelyn's place... it felt like something real.
I looked down again, quietly committing the number to memory.
One hundred and fifty thousand.
A mountain.
But maybe, finally, one I actually wanted to climb.
The bus hissed to a stop, and a few college kids got on laughing, earbuds in, reeking of weed and cherry vape. I looked out the window as the city passed-murals, laundromats, bright corner stores with sun-faded signs.
I sent a message to Tim saying I won't be in tonight. That's one of the things I loved about working at the club we were free to come in whenever.
It was weird how calm I felt. Not hopeless. Not overwhelmed. Just... still. Like my brain finally had something to hold onto, even if it scared me.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
I slid it out without much thought, expecting a text from Sam or a work group chat, but an unknown number.
I stared at the screen, thumb hovering. It wasn't pushy. There was no guilt in it. Just that thing he did-honest, soft, and hard to brush off.
I thought about that morning. The way I left without explaining. The way his face changed when he saw me pulling away.
He didn't know what I was dealing with. The push-pull in my chest. How hard it was to feel wanted without wondering what the cost would be later.
And still... he reached out.
I took a breath, read the message again, and typed back slowly.
I hit send before I could second-guess it.
The reply came quicker than I expected.
I didn't answer right away.
I thought about the way his apartment smelled like cedar and clean laundry. The way he said, I really liked last night.
I didn't owe him anything.
But maybe I owed myself a night without running.
I didn't text him back.
I tossed my keys into the bowl by the door and kicked my shoes off like the day had done something to me. I wasn't planning on going anywhere else. I thought maybe I'd order food, wash my hair, pretend the quiet didn't feel heavy.
I sat the folder Evelyn gave me on the coffee table. I couldn't bring myself to look at it again. Every number in that packet felt like a door I wasn't sure how to open.
I turned on the TV, then muted it. Scrolled through Instagram, then closed it. Opened a text to Samantha, then deleted it.
The apartment was too quiet.
I lay back on the couch, one hand resting on my stomach, watching the ceiling fan turn like it might say something if I stared long enough. My chest felt weird-tight, but not in a dangerous way. More like something was pressing gently, reminding me it was still there.
The longer I sat still, the more I thought about him.
The way he didn't ask for anything in return when he gave me all that money. The way his message today didn't demand an answer-just left the door open.
I didn't owe him anything.
But I kind of wanted to see him again anyway.
Just to see if it still felt the same.
Not because I was trying to be mysterious-but because I didn't know what to say.
I went to the bathroom and took my clothes off and turned the shower on. I waited a few moments for it to heat up before stepping in.
The water helped. I stood under the spray until my skin pruned and my thoughts stopped looping. When I finally stepped out, the apartment was dim. Still. That weird in-between hour where everything felt hushed, like the city was holding its breath.
My hair fell straight down my back, still holding the faint shape of the flat iron. My skin looked a little flushed from the shower, warm brown with a soft sheen that caught the light just enough. Lips bare but full, brows brushed into place. I didn't look done up. Just... clear.
The black lounge set skimmed my frame in the way I liked-fitted without trying too hard. The sleeves hugged my arms, and the drawstring at my waist cinched just enough to show the curve of my hips. I looked like someone who cared, even if I hadn't planned to.
No makeup. Just lip balm and the kind of quiet confidence that comes from deciding something and not explaining it to anyone.
I didn't tell him I was coming.
I wasn't even sure I was going-until I found myself locking the door behind me, clutching my phone in one hand like it was a compass.
The walk to his place wasn't long. The sky was darker now, but the sidewalks were still busy in that weekday-evening way. People huddled outside restaurants. Cars honked softly. A woman in heels rushed past me with her phone pressed to her cheek.
The closer I got, the quieter it all felt. Like the street itself changed with every block-less noise, more glass. Private entrances. Soft lighting that glowed instead of flashed.
And then, finally, his building.
That tall, understated tower with the mirrored lobby and gold trim. The same security guard from the night before sat behind the desk, but this time, when I walked in, he looked up and smiled faintly-like he remembered.
I gave a small nod. Said nothing.
The elevator chimed before I even fully stepped into the hall.
I didn't know if he'd be happy to see me.
I didn't even know if he was home.
But still-I stepped in, and the doors slid shut behind me.
The elevator doors opened with a soft ding. I stepped out, heart doing a slow roll in my chest. His hallway looked the same-quiet, sleek, expensive. I tugged the sleeve of my top down and paused outside the door.
Then knocked.
A few seconds passed.
Then I heard movement. The door opened, and Brooks stood there in a plain white tee and black joggers, barefoot, hair slightly pushed back like he'd run a hand through it too many times. His eyes landed on me, and for a beat, he didn't say anything.
Then, a small smile.
"I wasn't sure if you were gonna show."
I glanced down at my hands, then back up. "Me either."
He studied me for a second, then stepped aside without pushing. "Come in."
I hesitated for just a moment before walking past him, the familiar scent of cedar and something clean wrapping around me like a memory I didn't know I had.
"You didn't text back," he added, not accusing-just stating it.
"I know," I said. "I didn't really know what to say."
He nodded, slowly. "But you came."
"I did."
He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "I'm glad."
I looked away, then back at him. "I wasn't sure if I should. I didn't want it to feel like I was... showing up expecting something."
His expression shifted-softened. "It doesn't."
I shrugged a little, unsure of what to do with my arms. "I left without really saying anything."
"I figured you needed space."
I nodded, grateful he didn't push.
"I don't usually do this," I said.
He smiled gently. "Neither do I."
We stood there, two people trying to close a distance without rushing it.
"I didn't want you to get the wrong idea."I said finally.
"I didn't," he said, a little firmer this time.
My eyes flicked up to meet his. There wasn't anything performative about the way he said it. No charm, no tactic. Just truth.
"Okay," I said softly.
"Do you wanna sit down?" he asked.
"Yeah."
We moved upstairs toward the living room. As we reached the top of the stairs, his hand brushed lightly against the small of my back. Not a grab. Not even a full touch. Just a presence-like he was making sure I was still there.
It sent a ripple through me anyway.
The living room looked the same, but the light outside had shifted again-darker now, windows reflecting more city than sky. The throw blanket was folded this time, tucked neatly into the corner like he'd thought about it.
We sat.
Too close.
Not in a way that screamed intention, but in that barely-there way where knees might brush if either of us turned just slightly. And we both knew it.
He picked up the remote but didn't use it. Just turned it slowly in his hand like he was deciding something.
"You okay?" he asked finally, voice low, like he didn't want to scare the quiet away.
"I am," I reassured.
He nodded once.
I looked over at him then, letting my gaze linger just a second longer than I meant to.
His profile was unfair. Jawline clean, lashes thick. The kind of face that would've annoyed me if it didn't also make my stomach flip.
"You seem... different tonight," I said.
"Different how?"
I shrugged. "Quieter."