Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ALEJANDRA
After dinner, Clara disappears into her room without a word.
A week ago, I would’ve followed her without a second thought, crawled into bed beside her, put on a random show, and wrapped myself around her.
But now? Now, there’s this tight, twisty feeling stuck between my ribs and my throat—nerves, want, confusion.
I know it was just one kiss—one really amazing, maybe-life-altering kiss—but I keep wondering if everything we usually do is going to feel different.
If it’s still okay to lie next to her, to touch her the way I used to, even though the slightest contact feels like a spark.
My heart thuds against my ribs as I walk down the hall and stop at her door, which suddenly feels way bigger than it should. I stare at it like it might swing open on its own, holding my breath, my heart thudding harder and harder as I lift my hand to knock.
I don’t know why I’m so nervous to go in there.
“Come in,” Clara calls from inside.
But I don’t. I’m frozen, feet rooted to the floor. My hand hovers near the doorknob, but I can’t bring myself to turn it.
I hear Clara rummaging about in her closet. When the rustling stops, silence follows before she whispers, “What the fuck?” Then she shouts, “Ale?”
The door swings open, and there I am—frozen at her door like a weirdo.
“What are you doing?” Clara chuckles.
A nervous laughter bubbles up in my chest, but I still can’t move.
“Seriously, what are you doing there?” She tilts her head slightly, brows knitting.
“I—I need clothes,” I say, finally stepping through the doorway.
Clara watches me carefully as I head straight to the closet and grab my favorite set of pajamas since all my things are still in her room.
“You okay?” she asks.
“Yeah, totally fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” I say, a little too fast, a little too brightly. It practically screams, I’m not fine at all.
“Fine, fine, fine,” I mumble, trying to fill the silence as Clara watches me dig through her closet like I’m still searching for something, even though the pajamas I want are already in my hand. Distraction feels easier than eye contact right now.
I’m not usually this nervous around women, but this isn’t just any woman. This is Clara, my best friend. My best friend, whom I kissed, and whom I can’t stop thinking about kissing again.
I already knew the softness of her lips on my cheek, my forehead, my hand, but feeling them on my own is something entirely different. I love it, and that scares me. Because now, nothing feels as if it’ll ever be enough.
Clara watches me with this amused, slightly raised brow.
“If you say so,” she says, clearly not believing me.
“I should change.” I beeline it for the bathroom.
I shut the door behind me and lean against it.
My heart’s racing, and I catch my reflection in the mirror, groaning softly.
I look a panicked mess. Why am I like this?
One kiss and I’m acting as if I’ve never spoken to her before.
I kick myself—literally—a soft tap to the shin, because that’s how desperate I am to snap out of it.
I change quickly, trying to breathe through the tightness in my chest. I smooth my shirt down, take one last steadying breath, and open the bathroom door.
Clara’s sitting on the bed, scrolling on her phone as if everything is normal, as if I didn’t nearly combust trying to talk to her like a normal person.
I walk out of the bathroom, trying to play it cool, even though my palms are sweating and I have no idea what to say.
I sit at the edge of her bed, limbs awkward and stiff. I can’t get comfortable or figure out what to do with my body.
“What are you doing over there?” Clara asks, setting her phone down on the nightstand next to her.
“I—” I laugh, mostly at myself because I’m being ridiculous. “I don’t know,” I say, rubbing my hands over my face.
“Come here.” She pats the spot in front of her.
I inch closer. When I finally reach her, she cups my face with both hands, her touch impossibly gentle.
“Do you want to talk?” she asks sweetly.
I do, I really fucking do, but my words can’t find their way out of my throat, so I nod. I just nod. How is she so calm right now? I guess she really is the queen of casual, because I feel on the verge of a panic attack.
Clara’s lips twitch into a soft smile as she lies on her side.
I lie in front of her and I try not to think about how close we are or our kiss earlier, because this is the most tender time we’ve shared, and I don’t want it to turn into something we can no longer do because I can’t control myself having her so close.
Clara throws her leg and arm over my waist, pulling me in until we’re in our usual position—face-to-face, noses so close they touch, and our eyes fixed on the other while Clara wraps me in her arms. A restless flutter stirs deep, rising fast, but I fight it, desperate to keep my cool.
“How are you feeling?” she asks, looking effortlessly cool, but I know her too well. There’s a hint of nervousness in her voice, which makes me feel more at ease.
“I—I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“No, I do, it’s just . . . we kissed,” I whisper. “We kissed,” I say again, trying to make sense of my own words.
“I thought you wanted to,” she says, and her voice cracks. She starts to back away, eyes full of concern.
“No.” I pull gently on her shirt to keep her close. “I wanted to, I really did. I think, even though I wanted it, I’m still processing.”
Clara nods as the tension in her shoulders eases, and her thumb starts to rub calming circles on my waist.
“So am I,” she says, nudging her nose against mine, soft and sweet.
“What now?” I ask, my eyes locked on hers.
Clara studies my face before biting her lip. “I’ve never lied to you, and I don’t want to start now,” she says, her voice catching as she struggles to swallow.
She takes a massive breath, and I brace myself.
“I can’t stop thinking about kissing you and . . . I want to do it again.” A shy smile tugs at the corners of her lips. “Preferably . . . often.”
The moment those words leave her lips, I realized how badly I wanted to hear them. My chest feels lighter, and I can finally catch my breath after holding it. I try to say something, anything, but the words get stuck in my throat, and I can’t seem to push them out.
“I mean, we don’t have to,” Clara says, body tensing.
“No, no.” I snap out of my daze. “I want to. I really, really do.” The second those four words leave my mouth, I realize I’ve never spoken anything more true.
“Seriously?” A wide smile crosses Clara’s face.
The butterflies in my stomach don’t just flutter—they riot. All I can do is nod because this emotion feels too big for words. I want this. I want her.
I lean in, my hand sliding to the back of her neck, fingers threading into her hair.
The moment our mouths touch, everything turns electric.
Our kiss is deep and slow, her lips parting under mine.
A breath catches in my throat as her hands slide to my waist, fingers pressing through the fabric like she needs to anchor herself.
I pull her closer, our bodies fitting together perfectly.
Her fingers curl at my sides as she leans in, giving herself over to it completely.
Slowly, we pull apart, foreheads resting together as our breaths mingle.
And in that silence, I sense it, the beginning of something real and beautiful between us.
It feels like nothing could ever spoil this perfect moment. The night passes gently, wrapped in that warmth and each other. But the next morning, a low ring cuts through the calm, and the call that comes along with it pulls me back to reality.
“Hello?” I answer groggily, not really looking at the number.
“Hi, is this Alejandra?” a woman’s voice asks.
“This is.”
“Hi Alejandra, this is Mazzie, lead recruiter at Limon Creative Studio. How are you?”
My heart leaps into my throat as the sleep lifts at the mention of the studio in New York I applied to blares in my ear. Clara, who still doesn’t know I’m thinking about moving, nuzzles into me.
What if she wakes up? What if she hears?
“I’m . . . I’m good, thank you,” I manage, trying to steady my voice and keep it low. Carefully, I slip out of bed, trying not to wake her.
“Great! I wanted to talk about your application. Do you have a few minutes for a quick interview?”
“Absolutely.” I slip into my room and quietly close the door. Once it clicks shut behind me, I let out a shaky breath. But I don’t even have a second to steady my racing heart before Mazzie’s voice comes through clearly again.
“Can you tell me a little about your background and what drew you to Limon Creative?”
I give her a well-rehearsed answer about their brand, their mission. She asks a few more questions. I do my best to respond, keeping my voice steady. But inside, I’m not really here. My thoughts keep drifting.
I’m trying so hard to pay attention to Mazzie, but guilt washes over me like a wave.
How am I going to tell Clara? Will she be disappointed?
Angry? The thought knots my stomach tight.
Panic bubbles up, but I try to push through it.
I have to focus. This is what I want, this is my opportunity to leave Stanwood behind.
But even as I think that, it sounds so far from what I want.
A few days ago, I was so sure, but now I don’t know.
This opportunity is incredible—Limon is one of the biggest commercial photography companies in the US.
I applied genuinely expecting a rejection, but now that it isn’t, New York sounds like an opportunity, not just a place to run away to in order to escape my ex.
I don’t know what to do.