Chapter 19 Kira
KIRA
The Burrow Bitches
Macey: Why is there so much chalk in our apartment?
Kira: Oh, I was trying out a couple of types of chalk before indoor rock climbing today.
Macey: You, Kira Park, went rock climbing??
Kira: It’s scary. But exhilarating.
Macey: When will you be home tonight?
Kira: I’m not sure, probably late!
Ariadne: …You guys know this is the group text, right?
Britney: shhh i like reading it
The cool night air hit my flushed cheeks as I stepped out of the gym, feeling the burn in my forearms. Burn was a light term. They felt like they were on fire. People rock climbed for fun?
I adjusted the strap of the gym bag on my shoulder and glanced at Landon, who seemed infuriatingly unbothered by the whole experience. His hair was slightly mussed, his shirt clung to his back in a few places, but he looked like he could do another round without breaking a sweat.
“How are you not in any pain?” I asked as we approached his car. “My fingers feel like they’re about to fall off.”
Landon grinned, tossing his bag into the trunk. “It’s about trust. You were clinging to the wall like it was about to collapse under you. Trust your feet.”
That wouldn’t be happening anytime soon. If indoor rock climbing taught me anything, it was that gravity was a scam.
“Okay, Spider-Man.”
He opened the passenger door for me, the movement casual but thoughtful, and I slid in. As he rounded the car to the driver’s side, I took a moment to catch my breath. My heart was racing, not from the climbing, but from the lingering energy between us.
Landon got into the driver’s seat, the smell of chalk and faint cologne filling the car. He adjusted the rearview mirror and offered me that mischievous grin of his. “You did good, though. At least for someone who kept muttering ‘I’m going to die’ the whole time.”
“It was scary!” I shot back, trying not to smile. “And I didn’t say it the entire time. Just most of it.”
He laughed, the sound warm and unguarded, and my stomach flipped. “Well, you made it to the top. That’s what counts. I’m proud of you.”
The way he said it—earnest, with no teasing lilt—made me glance away, suddenly unsure where to put my hands.
“Thanks,” I said, focusing on the dashboard.
Landon started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. “So, ready for part two of doing something scary today?”
“There’s a part two?”
“I’m taking you to my apartment,” he said casually, eyes on the road but his lips twitching like he knew exactly what he was doing.
“Oh.” My voice came out higher than intended.
I’d never been to his apartment before. Well, at least not inside it.
“It’s not a haunted house,” he said, glancing at me.
I laughed nervously. “I’m not sure what’s scarier, rock climbing or seeing the disaster zone you call your apartment.”
“Definitely my apartment,” he deadpanned.
My sore muscles were happy to see that the interior of Landon’s apartment complex had a working elevator. The key word being working. There technically was an elevator in Macey’s and my apartment complex, but I was pretty sure it stopped working the day we moved in.
The elevator ride up to the apartment was filled with consistent elevator beeps and my heartbeat, which I worried was loud enough to echo off the metal walls. When the doors slid open, I followed him down a dimly lit hallway with beige carpeting and scuff marks along the edges.
Landon stopped in front of a door marked 4B and fished his keys out of his pocket. He pushed open the door, flicked on the light, and moved aside to let me in. I hesitated for a second before stepping over the threshold.
The apartment was small but warm, with the kind of lived-in charm that spoke to Landon’s personality.
The main living area included a soft, overstuffed gray couch with a blanket draped across the back, a matching chair, and a coffee table covered in coasters, an old comic book, and a couple of empty mugs.
A flat-screen TV was mounted on the wall above a battered media console that held a PlayStation.
The kitchen was visible from the living room, separated by an island with two mismatched barstools. The counters were clean; a half-full fruit bowl perched in the middle.
Framed movie posters and Polaroid photos pinned haphazardly in a grid brought life to the space. My gaze caught on an old family photo of Landon, Liam, Aimee, and Mason on the couch, probably taken a few years before Mason’s cancer diagnosis.
“I forgot how handsome your dad was,” I said.
Landon stood behind me. “Yeah. If only he had passed down more of those genes.”
I nudged him with my shoulder. “Don’t fish for compliments. You know you’re hot.”
He looked down at me with a raised brow. “Am I?”
It was a genuine question, one that made me want to reassure him of the truth. “Very much so. I mean, have you seen your muscles?” Bold, I wrapped my hand around his bicep. “And when you get a little stubble around your jaw, like you do now? Hot.”
I couldn’t tell if it was the light or if Landon’s cheeks really had pinked.
He gently held the underside of my jaw as he pressed a soft kiss to my lips, gone as quick as it came. I leaned forward, reaching for one more. He supplied it, followed by a kiss to my cheek.
“I’m not as hot as you are, but I appreciate the compliment,” he said, pulling back. “We should probably take showers before we take this any farther.”
I could shower with you, I almost quipped, but I held in my comment. Instead, I followed him to the kitchen.
“I can make you some tea if you’d like.”
I crinkled my nose. “You know how to make tea?”
He pointed to the kettle on the stove. “I’ve been practicing.”
A fit body and good hair were one thing, but what really made a man hot was when he showed you he paid attention to your interests.
Landon opened one of the cabinets, revealing a surprisingly tidy lineup of tea boxes, tins, and glass jars.
It was a miniature apothecary—familiar names like Earl Grey and green tea sat beside more whimsical ones: lavender chamomile, spiced chai, cinnamon fig, and something called Vanilla Ruby Dream with a label covered in gold stars.
“This is…” I trailed off, blinking at the shelves. “A lot of tea.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. “Yeah, uh. I passed this tea shop a few weeks back and may have blacked out in the herbal aisle.”
I laughed. “That’s actually really sweet.”
He gave a crooked smile. “How about you shower while I make us something warm?”
“Sure,” I said, oddly touched by the domesticity of it all.
He walked me through the rest of his apartment, covered with books and DVDs on shelves and a shoe rack by the door that was actually organized. In the bathroom, he handed me a soft, faded gray towel that smelled like detergent and a hint of cedar.
“Let me know if you need anything.” He hovered for a second before gently shutting the door behind him.
Steam filled the room as I quickly showered, grateful I had the foresight to take an everything shower before today’s adventure. His shower was immaculately clean, the shelves stocked with neutral-scented shampoo, conditioner, and fancy bodywash.
Landon had lent me a few clothing items: a navy T-shirt, soft with age, and a pair of drawstring sweatpants.
When I pulled them on, the pants bunched at the waist and dragged a bit at the hem.
The T-shirt nearly swallowed me, brushing mid-thigh.
I glanced at myself in the mirror, cheeks pink from the hot water, long hair in need of a trim. Good enough.
Clothed in his warmth, I padded out of the bathroom toward the scent of cinnamon and chamomile drifting in the air.
“Hopefully, it lives up to your standards,” teased Landon, pushing a chipped mug in my direction. “I’m going to shower.”
“Your tea will get cold—” I turned around to warn Landon, who was already walking into his bedroom. While taking his shirt off. Pretty sure my eyes may have widened on my face, cartoon style, when I caught a glimpse of his soft skin and corded muscles.
I quickly turned back, taking a sip of the tea. It burned. Just like me.
To distract myself from impulsive behavior, I decided to snoop.
The fridge had a few magnets holding up random papers. A takeout menu from a Thai place, a grocery store receipt, and a couple of handwritten sticky notes, which caught my attention. Landon always preferred to write reminders down instead of putting them in his phone.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything juicy in the notes, just things like, “Don’t forget to take out trash” and “Cover Michael’s shift tomorrow.”
The contents of the fridge were surprisingly normal.
The shelves contained eggs, a carton of milk, multiple blocks of cheese, and a six-pack of craft beer.
There was also an entire drawer dedicated to sauces and condiments.
I counted at least four kinds of hot sauce.
Ironic, considering he had no spice tolerance.
I wandered back into the living room, landing on the media console beneath the TV.
The row of books caught my attention first. Crouching down, I ran my finger along the spines.
It was a mix of genres, from classic literature like The Great Gatsby, a couple of beat-up fantasy novels with creased spines, and even a book on woodworking that looked untouched.
“Nothing like my library,” I murmured to myself with a smile, pulling out one of the fantasy books. Inside the front cover, there was a name written in blue ink: Landon Cole — 8th Grade. He’d had this forever.
I stood back up, partly glad that I didn’t find anything scandalous during my snooping. Landon was reliable and steady.
The fear of cold tea pulled me back into the kitchen. Before I could take another sip, Landon’s phone, which sat face up on the counter, started to ring.
“Landon!” I yelled. “Someone’s calling you.”
The water still ran in the shower, but he heard me just fine. “It’s probably Josh. Can you answer it?”
“Sure.”
I grabbed the phone off the counter, lifting it to my cheek without bothering to check the name. “Landon’s answering machine. Can I take a message?”
“Oh, hello.” A young female voice on the other end responded. “Sure. It’s Lucy from Saffron and Sage.”
Huh?
“Saffron and Sage?”
“Yes, the event coordination company in San Diego.”
“Oh.” I finally took another sip of tea. Delicious. “Is this about the diner?”
“No, it’s about his application for the role of event administrator. If you could just let him know we’d like to offer him the position with a start date of January first…”
But whatever else Lucy said had gone silent in my head. Event coordination company? San Diego? What the hell was happening?
I hung up the phone and dropped it, snatching my fingers back like I’d been burned, the words curdling in my stomach. Landon was…moving? To California?
My mind spun, frantically flipping through every conversation we’d had over the past few months, but there was nothing—no mention of a job, no hint of a possible move, not even a passing comment about San Diego.
We had just gotten back together.
And now he was planning to leave again?
To leave me.
I stood frozen in the kitchen, mug trembling in my hand, heart thudding in my throat. The sound of the shower running in the bathroom felt suddenly distant, like it was happening in another world.
My instinct screamed at me to leave. Just walk out. Grab my bag and disappear before he could step out with some excuse on his lips and a towel around his waist.
He’d already made his choice.
But as I turned halfway toward the door, another voice pushed through the panic.
We promised each other honesty. We promised no more silence, no more hiding hard things just to protect the other person’s feelings.
I hate being an adult with communication skills.
I tightened my grip around the mug and forced myself to take a deep breath. Running wouldn’t give me the answers I needed. Not this time.
Instead, I sat down on the couch, set the mug on the coffee table with a quiet clink, and waited.