13 | The Long Neighborhood
THEO
I shouldn’t be here.
I had work. A late client dinner with a presentation at seven. A dozen emails that needed responses before the end of the day.
Instead, I was parked outside the veterinary clinic on Maple Street at 5:15 on a Wednesday, two coffees in the cupholder, watching the door.
Waiting for her.
I’d told myself I just needed to ask her about this weekend. That it made sense to do it in person rather than over text. That it was a practical, efficient, and logical thing to do.
All of which was bullshit.
I knew it.
I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her since Nate’s.
I’d been parked here for ten minutes.
The clinic door finally opened.
Tessa walked out in scrubs—blue with little cartoon dogs on them—her hair pulled back in a ponytail, her bag slung over one shoulder. She looked tired. Good tired, the kind that came from a long day doing work that mattered.
She saw my car.
Stopped.
I got out.
“Theo?” She walked over, confusion clear on her face. “What are you doing here?”
I held out one of the coffees. “Thought you might need this.”
She took it automatically. Looked at me. “You drove all the way here to bring me coffee?”
“I was in the neighborhood.”
“Your office is twenty minutes away.”
“It’s a long neighborhood.”
A smile tugged at her mouth. “Okay. What’s going on?”
“Can I walk you home?”
She raised an eyebrow. “You have a car right there.”
“Right.”
“So can you drive me home?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I can do that.”
She fell into the passenger seat with the particular relief of someone who’d been on their feet all day, coffee cradled in both hands, head tipped back slightly against the headrest. The evening traffic was slow. I didn’t mind.
“Caramel latte,” I said. “That’s still your thing, right?”
“Always.” She took a long sip and made a small sound of approval. “Okay. What’s going on?”
“I have a work thing this weekend. Cabin upstate, two nights.” I kept my eyes on the road. “Everyone’s bringing their partners.”
“So you need me.”
“I need you.”
She turned the coffee cup slowly in her hands. “Where upstate?”
“About two hours north. David has a lodge. Fireplaces, that kind of thing. Friday evening, back Sunday afternoon.”
“Okay,” she said. Like it was nothing.
Something in my chest loosened. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She glanced over. “You could have just texted, you know.”
“I know.”
I could have. I’d picked up my phone four times before I got in the car.
She looked at me a second longer than necessary, then turned back to the window. The city moved past in streaks of light.
“Don’t thank me yet,” she said. “I’ve never done a couples retreat. I might be terrible at it.”
“You won’t be.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do,” I said.
She smiled at that—small, private, aimed at the window—and didn’t say anything else.
The traffic thinned. The heater was on low. Soft music played through the speakers, something slow and forgettable. I took the longer route without thinking about it.
By the time I glanced over at a red light, her eyes were closed.
Coffee still in her hand, tilted just enough that I reached over carefully and took it from her hand before it could spill. She didn’t stir. Her head had dropped slightly toward the window, her breathing was slow and even, the tension of the whole day finally gone from her face.
I drove the rest of the way without the radio.
Her building was quiet when I pulled up. The crooked porch light was doing its usual inadequate job of illuminating the steps.
I sat there for a moment looking at her.
Her hair had come half-loose from the ponytail. There was a faint crease on her cheek from the seatbelt. She looked younger like this. Unguarded.
“Tessa.” I kept my voice low.
She stirred. Not fully—just a small shift, a frown, the particular resistance of someone who doesn’t want to be woken up.
“Tessa. We’re here.”
“Mmm.” Her eyes stayed closed. “Five more minutes.”
“You’re in my car.”
“It’s fine.”
I bit back a smile. “I need your keys.”
A long pause. Then, without opening her eyes: “Carry me.”
“What?”
“You heard me.” She turned her head slightly, opening her eyes.. “You’re strong. I’m tired. It’s a simple equation.”
“Tessa—”
“Theo.” Finally, one eye opened. Barely. “You’re the best. Please.”
There was no version of me that could resist her, so I got out and came around to her side.
She was more awake by the time I opened the door—enough to fish her keys out of her bag and hold them out to me without being asked, then loop her arms around my neck when I reached in for her.
“Hi,” she said, somewhere near my ear.
“Hi,” I said.
She settled against me easily, her head dropping to my shoulder, fingers loosely crossed at the back of my neck. Not gripping. Just there.
I got to the front door and started up the stairs.
“You smell nice,” she murmured into my collar.
I almost missed a step.
“Thanks.”
“Sandalwood.” A pause, slow and drowsy. “You always smell like sandalwood.”
I didn’t say anything. Just held her a little closer without meaning to.
“Fourth floor?” I asked.
“Yeah.” A beat. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” I would carry her to the tenth if she let me. She shifted slightly as I turned onto the third landing, her cheek pressing more firmly against my shoulder, her breath warm through the fabric of my shirt.
“Almost there,” I said.
“Mm.” She didn’t open her eyes.
“Don’t rush.”
I didn’t.
She was almost asleep again by the time I got her apartment open.
I set her down on the couch.
She shifted immediately, chasing the warmth she’d just lost, fingers catching briefly in my sleeve before slipping away.
“Hey,” she murmured, barely awake.
“I’m right here.”
That seemed to be enough.
She relaxed again, curling into the cushion like it was something familiar.
I stood there longer than I should have.
Looking at her.
At the way her hair had come loose completely now, falling across her cheek. At the faint crease near her mouth from where she’d been holding tension all day. At how small she looked like this.
My hand lifted before I thought about it—toward her cheek, toward the strand of hair that had fallen across her face.
Hovered.
Close enough to touch.
Stopped.
I dropped it back to my side. She wasn’t awake to read anything into it. That was exactly the problem.
“Leave the keys on the table,” she murmured.
“Of course. Don’t worry.”
“Mm.” A pause. “Theo?”
“Yeah?”
“You really are the best.”
Then I let myself out, pulled the door shut behind me, and walked back down to my car in the dark.
I sat in the driver’s seat for a while before starting the engine.
The coffee cup was still in the cupholder. Hers. Still faintly warm.
I started the engine.
My phone lit up on the dashboard almost immediately.
Three missed calls. Two emails marked urgent.
David.
Fuck.
I stared at the screen for a second longer than necessary.
The client dinner.
Right.
I checked the time.
Late.
Not irrecoverable.
I called him.
“It’s not like you to miss a meeting.”
“I know.” I pulled out into traffic. “Something important came up.”
A beat.
“Everything alright?”
It was.
“Yeah.”
Another pause. Shorter this time.
“We’re already at the restaurant,” he said. “We’ll wait.”
“Thanks. I’m on my way.”
“Good.”
He hung up first.
I tossed the phone onto the passenger seat.
The car still smelled faintly like her.
Sweet. Warm. Familiar.
I didn’t roll the windows down.
David could wait.
????
Does our boy know this isn’t only an arrangement for him, or is he that good at lying to himself?
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