Chapter 27
The morning light was soft through the curtains when I woke up, and for a moment I just lay there with my face pressed into the pillow that still smelled like him, listening to the quiet sounds of the apartment.
He was already up, I could hear him moving around in the kitchen, the low clink of a mug being set down, the soft hiss of something on the stove and I smiled into the fabric because this had become my normal now, waking up to the sound of him somewhere nearby,
and I still wasn't used to how good it felt.
I found him at the counter with a cup of coffee in his hand, but something was off about the way he was standing there.
He was looking at nothing, his jaw tight and his eyes unfocused, and when I said good morning he blinked like he had forgotten I was there before he turned and kissed my forehead like everything was fine.
I didn't think much of it at the time everyone had off days, and he had been working late a lot lately, whatever his work even was so I just poured myself some coffee, ate my breakfast, and tried not to stare at the way him which was impossible.
The walk to the subway felt lighter than usual, and I couldn't tell if it was because the Arclight project was finally almost over or because I had spent the entire morning thinking about the way his arm had felt around my waist when I tried to leave for work.
He had pulled me back against his chest and pressed his face into my hair, and for a moment neither of us had moved, and I had almost called in sick just to stay there a little longer.
I was blushing by the time I reached the office, and I couldn't even pretend it was from the cold.
The office was the same as always grey walls, fluorescent lights, the low hum of computers and quiet conversations but everything looked brighter today, or maybe that was just me, maybe I was the one who had changed, and everything else just looked different because I was seeing it through new eyes.
I made it to my desk, dropped my bag, pulled out my phone, and was about to check for messages when Sienna appeared behind me with a folder in her hand and her usual unreadable expression.
"The Arclight revisions," she said, setting the folder on my desk. "Well done."
I blinked at her. "Well done? Like... actually well done? No 'this is acceptable' or 'you're more competent than I thought'?"
She gave me a look that could have frozen coffee. "Do you want me to take it back?"
"No, no, I'm just—" I couldn't help the grin that spread across my face.
"I'm going to frame this moment. I'm going to record your voice and play it back whenever I need motivation. Sienna Parker told me well done. Twice in one month or maybe my retirement. This is historic."
She stopped walking and turned to look at me, her eyes narrowing like she was trying to decide whether I was being serious or sarcastic or both.
"You're in a good mood," she said.
"I'm in a great mood," I said, and I didn't even try to hide my smile.
She stared at me for a moment longer, and then she said "Don't let it affect your work" and walked away, but I could have sworn I saw the corner of her mouth twitch before she turned.
I was still smiling when I sat down at my desk and pulled out my phone.
Me: Arclight project is almost over, yaayyy!!
I waited for his reply, expecting something warm or teasing or maybe just his usual flat acknowledgement that he had read my message. But the minutes passed and nothing came, and I found myself checking my phone over and over again like a teenager waiting for a text from her first crush.
When his reply finally came, it was shorter than I expected.
Someone Very Important: I have some work and will be late. Don't wait up.
I stared at the screen for a moment, my thumb hovering over the keyboard.
He had been zoning out this morning, staring at walls, not really present, and now this.
I thought about asking what kind of work, or when he would be back, or if everything was okay, but I also knew what it was like to need space and not know how to ask for it.
So I just typed: Okay. Come home safe.
He didn't reply to that either.
I set my phone down and tried to focus on the files in front of me, but my mind kept drifting back to the way he had looked at me during the Cartier argument, jealous and angry and completely unreasonable, all because of a watch I had bought for someone else before I even knew he existed.
He had dragged me to a store and made me buy him clothes and stood there in his cheap plain clothes looking like the most infuriatingly handsome man I had ever seen,
and I had paid for everything without really arguing because somewhere along the way I had stopped caring about money when it came to him.
I shook my head and got back to work.
The day passed somehow, and before I knew it I was packing my bag and heading for the door.
The office was already emptying out, and the subway was crowded, and I stood with my hand around the strap and my head against the window and thought about how strange it was that I was going home to an apartment that might be empty.
When I reached the door and turned the handle, it didn't open.
I blinked and tried again, and that was when I realized that the door was locked.
He had locked the door. The door was never locked these days, not since those first few days when he had started staying, not since he had decided that my apartment was his apartment too.
It hit me that he hasn't returned yet. I fumbled for my keys and unlocked it, and the click of the lock felt strange in my ears because this was what I had done for years before him, but somehow it felt wrong now.
The apartment was dark when I stepped inside, and the kitchen was cold, and there was no smell something delicious or of whatever he had decided to cook that day.
The stove was empty, the counters were clean, and the only sign that anyone else lived here was the hoodie he had left draped over the back of the chair.
I stood in the middle of the living room for a moment, just looking at everything, and I laughed at myself because I had only known him for a few weeks and already my apartment felt incomplete without him in it.
How quickly I had changed. How quickly I had let myself get used to coming home to someone.
I changed out of my work clothes and pulled on his hoodie, the one he had left on the chair, the one that still smelled like him.
And then I went to the kitchen to make myself dinner.
But I opened the refrigerator and looked at the food he had bought and realized I wasn't hungry.
Not because the food didn't look good, it always looked good but because I had gotten used to eating with him, to sitting across from him at the small table, to watching him take bites of food I had made or he had made or we had made together.
I closed the refrigerator and went back to the couch.
The television flickered through channels but nothing caught my attention, and I sat there with the remote in my hand and my knees tucked under my chin and realized that I was waiting for him.
I was sitting in my own apartment on my own couch waiting for a man who had shown up weeks ago with nothing but the clothes on his back and somehow made this place feel like home.
And somewhere in between the flipping and the waiting and the trying not to check my phone every five minutes, I realized how deep he had carved himself into my life.
I thought about the way I had been this morning. Humming on the subway, grinning at Sienna, blushing at my own reflection, and I realized with a start that I hadn't felt like this in years.
He had been here for weeks, and in those weeks he had become part of every routine, every habit, every small decision I made without thinking.
I made coffee for two now. I bought extra groceries without being asked.
I left the door unlocked because I wanted him to know he was welcome, because I wanted him to feel like this was his home too.
I liked him. I really, really liked him.
More than I had let myself admit, more than I had said out loud, more than I had even acknowledged in my own head.
He was the first thing I thought about when I woke up and the last thing I thought about before I fell asleep, and somewhere along the way, between the cooking and the holding and the way he said my name like it meant something. I had started to fall in love with him.
The thought made my chest tight and my stomach flip and my heart do something complicated that felt like terror and joy all at once.
I had almost forgotten what this felt like — the lightness, the hope, the terrifying vulnerability of caring about someone so much that they could break you without even trying.
I had felt this once before, at the beginning with Oliver, back when I still believed in happy endings and people who kept their promises. But this was different. This was him.
I didn't know much about him. His past was a locked door he never opened, his family was a subject he avoided, and I still didn't even know his last name but I knew he had been there whenever I needed him.
I knew he had held me while I cried and cooked for me when I was too tired to stand and looked at me like I was the only woman in the world.
I knew he had promised to stay, and I knew, I knew that he was different from Oliver, that he was different from anyone I had ever met.
And then I realized, with a jolt that made me sit up straight on the couch, that we had never actually said how we felt. Not once. Not even close.
He had never told me he loved me, and I had never told him, and what if, what if I was just something to him? What if I was convenient, or temporary, or a distraction until something better came along? What if I was falling in love with a man who didn't feel the same way?
I pressed my hands against my face and took a deep breath.
No. That wasn't fair to him. He had never given me any reason to doubt him, never made me feel like I was anything less than the center of his attention. If I was scared, it was because of Oliver, because of Anne, because of all the people who had promised to stay and then left. Not because of him.
I would tell him, I decided. After the Arclight project was finished. Tomorrow was the final review, and after that I would get a good bonus and some free time, and we could celebrate and I could tell him how I felt and we could figure out what came next together.
Maybe we could even look at apartments. The bonus would be enough for a deposit on something bigger, something with room for both of us, somewhere we could build something that was ours.
I had been looking at listings for weeks.
Bigger kitchens, more light, a bedroom that could fit both of us without feeling cramped, and I had saved the ones I liked best on my phone.
I sat there on the couch, making plans for a future I hadn't let myself imagine until now, and somewhere between the third channel and the fourth I fell asleep.
When I woke up, I was in my bed.
I didn't remember walking here, didn't remember pulling back the covers or turning off the lights or any of the small rituals I did every night before I slept. One moment I had been on the couch, and the next I was here, tucked under the blanket with the pillow cool against my cheek.
He was here. He had to be here! He was the only one who could have carried me, the only one who would have tucked me in like that, the only one who knew that I always kicked off the blankets in my sleep and needed someone to pull them back up.
I jumped out of bed and ran to the living room, already smiling, already planning what I would say. Thank you for carrying me, you didn't have to, I fell asleep on the couch again didn't I, I'm sorry I'm like this—
but the living room was empty.
The kitchen was empty. The bathroom was empty. The whole apartment was empty, and the only sign that he had ever been here was the money on the counter and the small pink sticky note stuck next to it.
I picked up the note first, my fingers trembling for reasons I didn't want to examine.
Don't forget to eat.
I laughed because for a moment I was just relieved.
He must have earned some money from whatever work he did, and now he was giving it to me like some old-fashioned husband handing over his paycheck, and the thought made me blush even though there was no one there to see it.
Thank God. I pulled out my phone and snapped a picture of the note and the money, and I typed out a message before I could overthink it.
Me: I'll eat even if you don't give me money. Thank you anyways, I'll keep it safe.
I decided to add it to the house deposit fund. His contribution in our home.
I smiled at my own words, at how easily I had thought of house deposit fund like it was something real, something that was actually going to happen.
Me: Why aren't you back btw?
I waited.
No reply.
Me: When will you be back?
I waited longer.
The message stayed on delivered. Not seen. Just delivered, sitting there on his phone wherever he was, unopened and unanswered.
I looked at the clock on the microwave and my eyes went wide.
I was going to be late, again, and Sienna had just praised me and I didn't want to ruin it by showing up after everyone had already started their meetings.
I rushed to the washroom, my phone still in my hand, and I told myself that he was fine, that he was just busy, that he would reply when he could.