I nod slowly, forcing my voice to stay even. “Okay.”
I hate myself for saying it. She waits a beat, like she expected me to argue.
I don’t because if I argue, I’m admitting something I’m not ready to say out loud.
She disappears into my room to change. When she comes back, I walk her to the door.
She pulls her jacket on, fingers fidgeting at the zipper. I watch her hands, then her face, trying to read what she’s feeling.
I step closer, cupping her cheek gently, thumb brushing under her cheekbone. “Hey,” I murmur.
Her eyes meet mine. “Hey.”
“I’m not mad at you,” I say.
Her brows lift slightly. “I didn’t think you were.”
“Good,” I say, swallowing hard. “Because that … that wasn’t about you.”
“I know,” she whispers. “But it still touched your world.”
Your world… as if she’s only visiting.
I kiss her slowly. When I pull back, her eyes are a little glassy.
“Text me when you get home,” I say.
She nods. “I will.”
She steps out into the hall, turning back once. “Colton?”
“Yeah?”
Her voice is soft. “I like seeing you like this.”
“Like what?” I manage.
“Real,” she says simply.
Then she’s gone. The door closes, and the penthouse goes quiet again.
It isn’t the familiar quiet I used to crave. It’s emptier now. I stand here for a long moment, staring at the closed door, feeling something I don’t have a name for press against my ribs.
I told myself this was a plan.
Casual. Controlled. Safe.
But Melissa in my shirt, in my kitchen, laughing with my sister, it didn’t feel like a plan.
It felt like a life.
And the worst part?
I liked it.
I liked it enough that the thought of losing it makes my body tense with something dangerously close to fear.
Chapter Thirty-One
