Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Kyle
Alycia drags her thumb along the edge of the plate, a restless looping motion as if she’s trying to hold herself together.
It makes my chest tighten because I know what it means: she’s overwhelmed and pretending she’s not.
Whatever just sparked between us is still alive, but she’s already burying it under a polite smile.
I sit back, forcing myself to look anywhere but her mouth.
“Already?” Marisol glances up, completely oblivious. “You two haven’t had a chance to have desert.”
“I really do have an early day tomorrow.” Alycia sighs softly.
“Your mom made us pie. I love pie. It would be a travesty not to let me at least try a bite.” I clutch my chest as if she’s just insulted me. “
“?Ves? He has manners. Muy bien.” Marisol laughs, delighted.
Alycia shoots me a look. “You’re just saying that because you’ll eat anything sweet.”
“Correction, I’ll eat pie. Everything else is negotiable.”
That earns a soft laugh from her mom and a muttered, “Unbelievable,” from Alycia.
“Fine, fine,” Marisol says, patting my hand with warm approval. “I wrap up a slice for you to take home.”
“Thank you. You’re officially my favorite person tonight.”
Alycia rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
“Good,” I say quietly, leaning in just enough for her to hear. “Because that’s the plan.”
She’s so close I can see the way one of her curls escaped from behind her ear and rests against her jaw.
I shouldn’t touch her, not here, not now, but the urge wins.
My hand lifts before I can stop it, fingers brushing that stray strand back behind her ear.
She tilts her chin up, and our eyes lock.
Every part of me screams to move, to give in and kiss her, but there is something in her gaze that stops me.
Fear and hope tangled together, the same mix I’m sure she sees in mine.
“If you keep looking at me like that, and I’m not gonna be able to stop myself,” I whisper, voice rougher than I mean it to be.
“Then maybe don’t.” Her breath hitches, eyes darting to my mouth.
God help me, I almost listen. My heart’s beating too fast as I feel the moment she leans in, the brush of air that’s nearly a touch, and it’s all I can do not to ruin it by wanting too much. I pull back just enough to keep from doing something we can’t take back.
“Alycia.”
Her name comes out like a prayer I’m not ready to say out loud.
For a beat, she just looks at me, eyes bright with something that feels dangerously like yes.
Something in me jerks, sharp and involuntary, like someone cut the power mid-breath.
The moment snaps in my chest before I can hold on to it, and then footsteps sound.
“Here you go, sweetheart.” Marisol’s voice cuts through the charged quiet as she rounds the corner holding a foil-wrapped plate.
Alycia jumps, blinking like she’s just waking up from a dream, the spell breaking instantly. I drop my hand, fingers curling against my thigh under the table to keep from reaching for her again. It was one second, maybe two, but it changed everything.
Alycia’s knees bump the table as she pushes back, her chair scraping against the hardwood like she needs the noise to ground herself. She grabs the plate from Marisol’s hands, her voice higher than normal. “Gracias, Mamá.”
Marisol’s gaze flicks between us, her eyes narrowing just slightly before the corner of her mouth curves up. “Drive safely, you two. And no olviden el pie.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I manage, though my voice sounds rough even to my own ears.
Alycia mumbles a goodbye, but I can feel her trying not to look at me, the tension still vibrating under her skin.
“And Kyle, you’re welcome to come visit anytime. I mean it.”
I laugh, but it comes out a little rough. “Careful, ma’am. I might take you up on that.”
She winks and disappears back toward the kitchen, humming under her breath. The sound fades, but the charge she left behind doesn’t.
I watch Alycia watching the doorway long after her mom’s gone. Her cheeks are still pink, her chest rising and falling a little too fast, that foil-wrapped pie clutched like a shield. I can tell she’s fighting to pull herself back together, and I can’t look away.
She finally turns, catching me staring. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say, but it comes out low, honest. “You don’t look like someone who wants to leave yet.”
Her breath stutters, punching heat straight into my ribs before she lifts her chin like she’s daring me to pretend I didn’t see it. “And what do I look like, then?”
“Like someone who’s still thinking about what almost happened.”
She doesn’t move, eyes focused on the foil plate, fiddling with the edge. “We should go.”
“Probably.” I push my chair back and stand, careful not to touch her. She looks up, startled by the nearness.
“Relax,” I say quietly, offering a small smile. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m fine.”
“Sure,” I tease, hoping to cover how hard my heart is beating. “You should work on your poker face.”
Her mouth twitches, an almost-smile tugging at the corner. And in that quiet, the truth slides into place so cleanly it steals my breath. I don’t want this to end when we walk out that door.
She turns, heading toward the entryway, and I follow, the sound of her heels clicking softly against the floor. The night air greets us as we step outside, the Portland chill seeping through your clothes but never quite into your bones.
“Sorry.” Alycia exhales, the tension in her shoulders easing a fraction. “She means well. She just—”
“Likes me?” I cut in, teasing, because it’s easier than saying what I really want to.
“She likes anyone who eats her cooking.”
“Lucky for me, I love pie.”
That earns me a quiet laugh, the edge of her nerves fading. We reach her car, and I stop beside it, turning to her. My hand comes out automatically. “Keys?”
Not because she can’t drive, but because I need to feel like I’m doing something besides watching her fall apart quietly. She hesitates, then fishes them from her bag and drops them into my palm. Our fingers brush, making my pulse kick up again, and I open the door for her. “After you.”
She slides into the seat, tucking the pie onto her lap as if it's something fragile. I lean down out of habit, ready to help her with the seat belt, then stop when she reaches for it herself. The click of the buckle feels louder than it should. She doesn’t even look at me, and I know exactly why.
She’s trying to keep her distance and not lose the same fight I am.
When I shut her door, I stand there for a moment, letting the cool night air hit me, before making my way to the driver’s side and climbing in.
My hands are shaking as I turn the key in the ignition.
As I make my way back toward her apartment, Alycia’s reflection flickers in the windshield, all soft edges and shadow.
She’s staring out the window, biting the inside of her cheek, probably overthinking every detail from tonight.
I can see it in the tension in her jaw and the faint crease between her brows; she’s trying to build her walls back up, brick by brick.
But every time the streetlights pass over her face, I can see the worry in her eyes.
The tiny flash of vulnerability she probably doesn’t even know she’s showing makes me want to tell her she doesn’t have to keep holding everything together on her own.
But I tighten my grip on the wheel and look straight ahead, because if I don’t, I’ll say something I can’t take back.
“You didn’t have to say that,” she says after a while, voice soft but edged with something fragile.
“Say what?”
“To my mom. About me.”
I glance over. She’s staring straight ahead, her grip tight on the foil-wrapped plate in her lap. “I know.”
“So why did you?”
“Because it was true.”
She doesn’t look at me, but I hear the slow exhale she tries to hide.
For a second, the mask slips, her eyes glistening in the reflection of passing light, and something in me clenches tight.
She doesn’t believe me, but she wants to.
I can see it in the way her fingers loosen on the plate and how her shoulders drop just a little.
Her lips part like she might ask what’s true, but she stops herself at the last second.
And that quiet wrecks me more than if she’d said anything at all.
I want to tell her she’s wrong about herself.
That I see her, even when she’s hiding. But I don’t because I already know the second I let those words out, there’s no taking them back.
The rest of the drive passes in silence.
Her fingers stay curled around the foil-wrapped pie, knuckles white, jaw set like she’s afraid that if she opens her mouth, she’ll give something away.
When I pull into a spot in front of her apartment, she exhales like she’s been holding her breath the whole way.
She presses her thumb into her palm, the same grounding trick I use when my nerves spike.
“Thanks for going along with the whole thing.”
“Wasn’t exactly a hardship.”
That earns a small laugh, breathy and thin. “You didn’t have to play it so well.”
“Who said I was playing?”
The words hang between us, too honest to take back. She looks at me, eyes wide, the soft light from the streetlamp catching the flecks of gold in them. And suddenly, I’m done pretending the air between us isn’t electric.
“I should go.” She unbuckles her seat belt slowly, the sound impossibly loud in the quiet car.
I nod, but I don’t move. “I’ll walk you up.”
She freezes for half a second—just long enough for the air between us to tighten—like she wasn’t expecting that. Her lips part as if she’s about to protest, but she doesn’t. She just opens the door and steps into the cool night air, the hem of her blouse fluttering in the faint breeze.