Chapter 7 Shane #2
I showed up at Maya's with Thai food because I'd learned it was her favorite. Pad Thai for her. Drunken noodles for me. Spring rolls to share. Zoe was at a friend's house for a sleepover, so it was just the two of us.
The apartment was quieter without Zoe there. More charged.
Maya answered the door in a thin tank top and cotton shorts, her hair down, still damp from a shower. No makeup. No armor. The tank top was old, soft from a hundred washes, clinging to her in ways that made it hard to remember I was supposed to be her friend.
I kept my eyes on her face. Mostly.
"You didn't have to bring food," she said, stepping aside to let me in.
"I know. I wanted to."
We settled on the couch with our containers between us.
It was one of those rare nights when Maya didn't have a mountain of grading waiting for her.
Parent-teacher conferences had just ended, progress reports were submitted, and for once, she had nothing hanging over her head.
She'd mentioned it earlier in the week, like she couldn't quite believe it.
I might actually relax this weekend. I forgot what that feels like.
Some terrible romantic comedy played on the TV, her choice. She laughed at the bad jokes. Threw popcorn at the screen when the lead made stupid decisions. Let herself relax in a way she didn't when Zoe was around, like she'd forgotten to keep her guard up.
I barely watched the movie. I watched her.
The way she curled into the corner of the couch, feet tucked under her.
The shadows under her eyes that never quite went away.
The strap of her tank top kept slipping down her shoulder.
She’d push it back up absently, without noticing. I noticed every time.
"You heard about the school fires?" During a lull in the movie, I said.
Maya's smile faded. She straightened, feet dropping to the floor, the easy relaxation of a few moments ago gone. "It's been on the news. The teachers have been talking about it."
"We're working on the investigation. FDNY's coordinating with the fire marshal." I kept my voice casual, but I watched her reaction. "They're targeting schools specifically. We think it's someone with a grudge against the system."
She nodded slowly. Processing.
"Just be careful, okay?" I held her gaze. "Don't stay too late by yourself. Make sure the building's locked up when you leave. If anything feels off, anything at all, you call me."
For a moment, I thought she might brush it off. Tell me she was fine, that she didn't need protection, didn't need some firefighter worrying about her.
Instead, she said, "I'll be careful."
Simple. No argument.
Something in my chest eased.
"Thank you," she added, quieter. She shifted closer, her knee almost touching mine. "For telling me. For worrying."
"I'm always going to worry about you." The words came out before I could stop them. Too honest. Too close to the line I'd promised not to cross.
Maya's eyes met mine. Something flickered there.
The movie played on. Neither of us watched it.
She was close. Close enough that I could see the pulse jumping in her throat. Close enough that if I leaned forward, just a few inches, I could find out if her lips were as soft as they looked.
Friends. You promised her that.
I turned back to the movie. Pretended I could focus on anything but the heat of her beside me.
An hour later, her head started tipping back against the cushions. Her eyes drifted closed, snapped open, then drifted again.
"Maya, " I said softly. "You're falling asleep."
"I'm fine." Her voice was thick. "Just resting my eyes. I want to see how it ends."
"The guy gets the girl. They always do."
"You don't know that."
"It's a romantic comedy. I absolutely know that."
She laughed, but it turned into a yawn she couldn't hide. Her eyes were barely open now, her body listing sideways toward the arm of the couch, giving in.
"Come on." I stood and held out my hand. "Bed. Real bed."
She looked at my hand for a moment, then took it.
Her fingers were warm and small in mine.
I pulled her up, and she swayed, exhaustion making her clumsy.
My other hand went to her waist to steady her instinctively, and suddenly her body pressed against mine, close and warm, her face tilted up, her lips inches away.
She didn't step back.
I should have. I should have let go, said goodnight, and walked out the door like a gentleman.
Instead, I walked her to her bedroom. I kept my hand on the small of her back because she was still unsteady, or that’s what I told myself, because I couldn’t make myself stop touching her.
She sat on the edge of the bed, looking up at me with heavy-lidded eyes, and I made the mistake of looking back.
The thin strap of her tank top had slipped again. Her hair was falling across her face. Her lips were parted, soft, and somehow I knew exactly how she would taste.
I wanted to push her back against the pillows. I wanted to follow her down, cover her body with mine, kiss her until neither of us could think straight. I wanted to peel that tank top off and map every inch of her skin with my hands. My mouth. My tongue.
But I didn't.
Friends. You promised her that.
"Goodnight, Maya."
My voice came out rough. Wrecked. If she noticed, she didn't say anything.
"Goodnight, Shane." She smiled, small and sleepy. "Thank you for dinner."
I made myself turn around. I made myself walk out of her room, out of her apartment, into the hallway where I couldn't do anything stupid.
I locked the door behind me and stood there for a moment, forehead pressed against the wood, trying to get my breathing under control.
I drove home through streets I’d known my whole life, on autopilot.
I could still feel her. The weight of her against my chest when she’d swayed into me earlier. The warmth of her back under my palm. The way she'd looked up at me from her bed, soft and trusting and so beautiful it hurt to breathe.
Goodnight, Shane.
I gripped the steering wheel harder.
She was exhausted. Running on fumes, willpower, and the stubborn belief that she had to do everything alone.
Tonight had been rare. One night without grading, without obligations, without the weight of the world on her shoulders.
And even then, she'd barely made it to ten o'clock before her body gave out.
I couldn't fix that. Couldn't make her slow down. Couldn't carry the weight she insisted on shouldering herself.
But maybe I could give her more nights like this one.
One dinner. Just us. Somewhere that wasn't her apartment, where she could dress up and feel like herself again. Not a mom. Not a teacher. Just Maya.
She'd said she wasn't ready to date. I'd respect that.
But maybe she was ready to be taken care of. Just a little. Just once.
I was going to ask her. And if she said no, I'd keep showing up anyway.
But I had to try.
Because walking out of that bedroom tonight had been the hardest thing I’d ever done. And I wasn't sure how many more times I could do it.