Chapter 19
I stood in the bathroom with my back against the door, my hands pressed flat against my chest, trying to slow the hammering in my chest.
My reflection stared back at me from the mirror. Hair tousled, cheeks flushed, eyes wide. I looked like someone who had just been thoroughly kissed, which was ridiculous because we hadn't even-
I cut that thought off before it could finish.
But my mind was already back there. On the bed. His hand pinning my wrists. His mouth against my ear. His voice in my ear. His hand on my thigh. The way he had said my name like he was tasting it...
We had gotten closer after last night. That was the truth of it. Something had shifted between the crying and the holding and the way he had stayed.
He was handsome. I would give him that. More than handsome.
The kind of face that made people stop in the middle of sentences, that made rooms go quiet when he walked in.
But it wasn't just his face. It was his hands, the way they moved with that unhurried confidence, like they had all the time in the world.
His voice, low and rough and capable of making my stomach flip with a single word.
His body, firm and broad, as if it had been sculpted precisely for the purpose of making it difficult to think when he was close.
Elera.
I slapped my cheeks lightly. Focus. Focus.
I leaned closer to the mirror, examining my face like it might offer some explanation for the state I was in. My cheeks were slightly pink. My hair was a disaster. I looked like I had just crawled out of bed after-
No. Stop.
I turned the shower on as cold as I could stand it.
The water helped. A little. Enough to wash away the last traces of sleep, enough to make my thoughts feel like they belonged to me again. I brushed my teeth. Thoroughly. Aggressively. Definitely not because I was expecting him to kiss me again. Definitely not.
By the time I stepped out, wrapped in a towel, the bathroom was steamy and my heart had returned to something approaching normal.
I cracked the door open. He wasn't there.
Thank God.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding and moved quickly, pulling on the first clothes I found. Dark trousers, a soft cream blouse, anything that looked professional. I twisted my hair up, pinned it in place, and checked myself in the small mirror by the door. Good.
Better. Composed. Like a woman who had responsibilities. Then I walked out.
He was by the stove. I took a deep breath to brace myself and moved forward.
"Hey."
He turned. His eyes swept over me work clothes, hair pulled back, bag by the door and his expression shifted into something I couldn't quite read.
"Where are you going?" His voice was flat, but there was something underneath it.
"Work Obviously."
A pause. His jaw tightened slightly.
"I thought you wouldn't go today."
"What?" I blinked. "No way. I've taken too many holidays this month. I don't want to get fired."
I busied myself with pouring a glass of water, not looking at him. The silence stretched. Then-
"Oh. Right." I set the glass down and turned to face him properly. "I'm sorry."
His frown deepened. "You don't have to apologise for not being up to my expectations."
I stared at him. Did he just-
"I'm sorry," I said, deadpan. "that I didn't eat the food you made yesterday. It smelled great." I paused. "What did you do with it?"
He didn't answer immediately. Something flickered across his face... amusement, maybe.
"I fed it to a dog."
I stared at him. "A dog?"
"Mhm." He turned back to the toast. "Golden retriever."
"You have a Golden retriever?" The words came out higher than I intended. I couldn't help it. "Really? Where? Can I see it?"
He gave me a look. "What's so good about them?"
"They're so friendly!" I gestured vaguely, trying to contain my excitement. "And clingy. And adorable. They just- they love you so much. You can't not be happy around a Golden retriever."
He rolled his eyes. "Stupid."
I grinned. "You're just saying that because you've never had one."
He didn't dignify that with a response.
I moved closer, peering at the counter. "What are you making?"
"Fette biscottate with jam."
I made an 'o' with my mouth. "Biscuits and jam."
"I didn't know you could cook until last night."
He set the plate down on the small table. "So?"
"So..." I gave him a sidelong look, letting a smile creep onto my face. "Since I'm busy working, and you're eating from the same money... don't you think you should contribute?"
His expression didn't shift. "Don't twist the words. It doesn't suit you. Just say what you want."
I grinned. "You should do the housework. Don't be a dead weight."
Something flickered across his face. Disbelief, maybe. Or the particular strain of patience required to deal with someone who had just called him dead weight.
"Did you seriously-" he started.
I scrambled away, laughing. "Fine! Fine! I'm not turning you into a housemaid. Just cook sometimes, okay?"
He exhaled through his nose, long and slow, but he didn't say no. I counted that as a victory.
I picked up a piece of the biscuit, spread with jam, and took a bite.
"Mmm." I chewed, swallowed. "Not bad."
He gave me a flat look. "Don't try to butter me up. That didn't require any cooking."
I gave him a sheepish expression and took another bite. He watched me eat with that unreadable expression, arms crossed, leaning against the counter like he had all the time in the world.
I finished quickly, washed my hands at the sink, and grabbed my bag from the door. My hand was on the handle when his voice came from behind me.
"That bast-" He stopped. Corrected himself. "That guy. Avoid him like a plague."
I paused. Turned.
"Guy?" Then I understood. "Oh.... Oliver." I nodded slowly. "Yeah. I will. I already do."
A warmth spread through my chest that I refused to examine too closely. I batted my eyelashes at him, putting on my most innocent expression.
"Is that concern?"
He huffed, turning back toward the kitchen, but I caught his arm before he could move. His forearm was solid under my fingers, warm, and before I could talk myself out of it I leaned up and pressed my lips to his.
It was quick. A peck. Barely a kiss.
I pulled back before he could react.
"I'll try to be back as quick as possible!" I was already at the door, my hand on the handle, my heart doing something violent in my chest. "If something happens, I'll text 'someone very important'!"
I slipped out before he could respond, pulling the door shut behind me.
I stood in the hallway for a moment, my back against the door, my hand pressed to my lips.
I had just done that. I had just kissed him. On the mouth. And then run away.
The smile on my face was absolutely not because of the kiss. It was because I had won the argument about the housework. That was the only reason.
I let out a breath that was half laugh, half something I didn't have a name for, and started down the stairs.
My face was still warm when I reached the street. My lips still tingling. My chest still full of something that felt terrifyingly close to happiness.