twenty two #2
Something in his face shifted-like relief, like something he'd been holding in all night finally eased.
"Hey," he said, his voice low, warm.
"Hey," I echoed, a little breathless.
He straightened, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "You just get off?"
"Yeah. We had a little thing for Mariah-she's leaving."
He nodded, eyes flicking over me like he was checking for something he couldn't name. "You okay?"
"I'm good," I said, softer. "Just tired."
He crossed the room in a few unhurried steps, stopping close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his skin. His hand came up to cup my jaw, thumb brushing just under my eye.
"You look exhausted," he murmured.
I huffed a tired laugh. "Thanks."
His mouth curved. "Didn't say you weren't beautiful."
I felt my face go warm. "I'm gonna shower."
"Okay." He leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to my temple. "I'll be here."
I didn't bother grabbing anything to change into. I knew he'd have something in his drawer for me-one of his old T-shirts, soft with age.
The bathroom filled with steam in seconds. I let the hot water beat down over my shoulders, rinsing away the hours, the cake, the ache I hadn't let myself feel while I was still in that dressing room.
By the time I came out, wrapped in one of his towels, the apartment was quiet again.
Brooks was still in his office, but he'd moved to the armchair in the corner, one ankle propped over his knee, his head tipped back against the cushion. He looked tired in a way I hadn't seen before.
I padded over to him, bare feet silent on the rug.
He cracked one eye open when he felt me close. "Better?"
"Yeah," I said. "You?"
His mouth curved. "Getting there."
He reached for me without thinking. Just a gentle pull, coaxing me down onto his lap. His arms came around me, solid and warm, and for a moment neither of us said anything.
And in that hush, it hit me-how easy this had become. How normal it felt to be here.
His hand smoothed down my back, slow and absent. Like he was still half in whatever thoughts had kept him up working.
I rested my cheek against his shoulder, breathing him in-soap and clean cotton and the faint, expensive cologne that always clung to his skin.
"You ever sleep?" I murmured.
His chest rumbled with a soft laugh. "Not lately."
"You should."
"Probably." He went quiet, fingers tracing the edge of the towel where it tucked around my chest. "I just...can't turn my brain off some nights."
"Yeah." I swallowed, picking at a loose thread on his shirt. "I know the feeling."
His hand stilled, resting warm over my spine. "Anything you want to talk about?"
"No," I said, a little too fast. Then softer: "Just...everything."
He didn't push. Just nodded like he understood.
We stayed like that for a while. The city lights slid across the dark windows, painting stripes of gold over his hair, my bare knees.
Eventually, he shifted, pressing a kiss to the side of my head. "Come on," he murmured.
"Where?"
"Out." His mouth curved into the smallest smile. "I've been sitting in this chair for six hours. I need to move."
I pulled back enough to look at him. "It's four in the morning."
"So?" His brows lifted, amused. "You busy?"
I laughed under my breath. "No."
"Good." He tucked a piece of damp hair behind my ear. "Get dressed. We'll walk for a bit."
He let me stand, but his hand skimmed my thigh as I moved past him-like he couldn't help it.
I pulled on a pair of leggings and one of his old hoodies. When I came back out, he'd traded his dress shirt for a thin black sweater, the sleeves shoved up his forearms.
He looked at me for a long second. Then reached, pulling the hood up over my head, his fingers lingering under my chin.
"Better," he said quietly.
"Shut up."
He smiled-soft, tired-and laced his fingers with mine.
Neither of us said anything else as we took the elevator down. The lobby was deserted except for the overnight security guard behind the desk. He nodded to Brooks, then did a little double-take when he spotted me at his side, like he was still getting used to seeing me there.
Outside, the air felt softer than it had any right to-cool against my skin, carrying the faint sweetness of something blooming in a window box three stories up.
We turned left at the end of the block, then right, neither of us saying much. He didn't drop my hand once.
It was a weird kind of peace, walking around a city that felt like it belonged to everyone else during the day and only to us at night.
"Is this what you do when you can't sleep?" I asked after a while.
He glanced over. "Sometimes."
"Just...wander around?"
"Pretty much." His thumb stroked over my knuckles. "You regret coming with me?"
"No," I admitted. "It's nice."
"Yeah," he said softly. "It is."
We passed the diner on 21st, the florist's with the neon tulip in the window, a row of townhouses with their porch lights still burning. It felt like we were walking off something neither of us wanted to name-his exhaustion, my worry, whatever lived in that space between us when we were apart.
He stopped sometimes to look up at a building, to point out something I wouldn't have noticed-a stone carving above a doorway, the way a balcony had been reinforced to keep the original railing.
"Were you always like this?" I asked.
"Like what?"
"Paying attention to everything."
He thought about it. "It's a side effect of growing up with a father who made every moment a lesson."
"Was that annoying?"
He laughed under his breath. "You have no idea."
The conversation drifted in and out. Sometimes we didn't talk at all, just walked until our breathing fell in sync.
And then-without planning to-we turned down a block I hadn't been on in weeks.
I slowed before I realized I was doing it.
Brooks followed my gaze to the narrow brick building set back a few feet from the sidewalk. The FOR LEASE sign in the window was faded from the sun.
"What's this?" he asked.
I swallowed. My heart was doing something weird-fluttering and sinking all at once.
"Nothing," I said too quickly.
He turned to face me fully, his brow lifting. "Doesn't look like nothing."
I hesitated.
"It's just..." I blew out a shaky breath. "I've been looking at this place recently."
His expression didn't change-still patient, still open.
"Why?"
I pressed my lips together. My pulse was racing in a way that had nothing to do with the walking.
"Because," I said quietly, "I always thought if I ever did something else...this is where I'd want to do it."
He didn't speak. Just looked up at the dark windows, then back at me.
"Tell me," he said, voice low. He pulled my hair to one of my shoulders and wrapped his arms around my waist. Nestling his face into my neck. "What would you do here?"
"I don't know," I said, though that wasn't true. I'd known for a long time. "A salon suite, I guess. One of those places where you can rent out little rooms. Hair, nails, lashes. Maybe some wellness stuff, too."
"Have you always wanted that?"
I glanced back at the building. Even now, in the dark, you could tell it was cared for-big windows framed in black trim, a gleaming brass door handle that caught the glow of the streetlamp.
"Not always," I admitted. "But...for a while."
"Have you met with the owner?" he asked softly. "Or a bank? Tried to see what it would take to lease it?"
"Yeah." My voice was quiet, but steady. "I met the owner the day I found it. She was really nice. Gave me a tour inside. It's even better than it looks-high ceilings, natural light. I could see it being...the place."
"The place," he echoed, like he was trying the words on his tongue.
"It's going for a hundred and fifty," I said. "I have almost forty saved."
He turned to look at me fully, surprise flickering across his face. "Forty thousand?"
"Yeah." I shifted my weight, suddenly self-conscious. "If I keep working the way I have been, I think...I think I can get the rest in the next six months."
There was a little silence. Not uncomfortable-just full of something I didn't have a name for.
Then he smiled. Soft, slow. Like he couldn't help it.
"You know you get this little twinkle in your eye when you talk about it?"
I huffed a shaky laugh. "No, I don't."
"You do," he insisted, stepping a little closer. "It's...beautiful."
My throat tightened.
"Don't look at me like that," I murmured. "You'll make me believe it's actually possible."
His hand came up, fingers brushing my jaw. "It is possible."
I swallowed hard, feeling my pulse beat in my throat. "You don't have to say that."
"I'm not saying it because I have to." His thumb traced a slow line over my cheekbone. "I'm saying it because it's true."
I didn't realize how close we'd gotten until I felt the warmth of him-solid and certain, like an anchor in the middle of all this uncertainty.
"Amira," he said, so quiet it felt like a secret, "you're allowed to want something good."
Something in me gave way.
I rose onto my toes and kissed him.
It wasn't careful or hesitant-just the kind of kiss that felt like exhaling. Like relief. Like maybe I was allowed to have this, too.
When I finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine.
"Six months," he murmured.
I nodded, feeling the tiniest ache in my chest-something almost like hope.
"Six months," I whispered back.
And in the hush of that quiet street, it felt-just for a moment-like everything else could wait.