27. Chapter 27
Chapter twenty-seven
Lina
Iawake with a soreness that seems out of this world.
It’s more than the dull aches from yesterday’s workout. It’s the deep, god-awful soreness that catches up with you after your body has had time to remember everything it went through the past two days.
The cuts and bruises appear more severe today, spreading across my skin in angry blues and yellows. I get that it means I’m healing, that this is the process. But damn, my legs look terrible.
I move with deliberate care at first, every step intentional. I begin going through my routine chores I usually complete late in the evening. I dust my shelves, clean the kitchen, start laundry, and wipe down counters.
The house seems quieter than I’m used to. Too still.
I turn on music to help fill the void. I play RAYE Oscar-winning Tears, and belt out the words.
The more I move, the looser my body gets. The aches reduce and my muscles remember how to work again.
By midday, I draw an Epsom salt bath and sink into it like it’s sacred.
The heat seeps into places I didn’t know were holding tension. Hips, shoulders, the base of my spine. I shut my eyelids and allow myself to relax for once. No timers, ovens, or customers waiting.
Even on the one day we are officially closed, I’m still there at the shop—organizing shelves, deep-cleaning, rearranging displays like rest wasn’t something I earned yet. Like stillness was a luxury meant for other people.
Today is odd. Foreign really. And honestly? Long overdue.
I check my phone more than I should.
The screen lights up repeatedly, messages stacking faster than I can read them. Text messages and Ring videos.
The shop looks packed from what I can see from the various camera views. The line curls past the windows, familiar faces mixed with new ones drawn in by curiosity and momentum. Pride swells in my chest, right alongside guilt.
I should be there. I should be helping. I should be doing something.
I open the group chat that’s been lighting up my phone.
A ping followed by a separate message from Val pops up on my phone.
I set the phone down. Smiling and giggling to myself.
Suddenly, gratitude hits me all at once.
A team that shows up without being asked. A business partner and amazing best friend who stands between me and the world without hesitation.
People who step forward the moment I allow myself to step back.
By late afternoon, I get ready. By ready, I mean I showered after my soak, threw on some shorts and a T-shirt. Nothing rushed, frantic, or overdone.
My thoughts drift, uninvited.
Dinner with Alex at my house.
Is sex on the table? Oh…sex on the table.
Do I have condoms?
Will he bring one?
I bet he has a big…
“Okay, I need to stop,” I say out loud to myself.
I hate that my brain goes there. But part of me wonders if sleeping together on the first date would make me seem reckless—or worse, predictable. Does that make me a slut? Or is that merely old programming rearing its ugly head again?
I sigh at my reflection.
Damn my mid-thirties libido. Because it’s there. Loud and unapologetic, far worse than it ever was in my twenties.
Thinking about his big, masculine hands on my body. His voice. The quiet intensity. The way he watches me, even when he’s not trying, like he sees the whole picture and isn’t afraid of it.
Get it together, woman!
Tonight doesn’t have to be anything other than dinner. It doesn’t have to end anywhere specific. It doesn’t have to prove anything.
But I also don’t owe anyone restraint for my desire, on a timeline that isn’t theirs. Fuck taboo bullshit.
But for now, I’ll settle for clean laundry, a healed body in progress, and a quiet evening with someone who showed up when it mattered.
Whatever happens after that? That’s for me to judge.