“Yep, these are not actual old school brownstones, they’re just made to look like them. They’re a relatively new build. There’s even a top terrace with tables and BBQs, and a hot tub.”
“Cool.”
Sounds expensive, I can’t help but think.
I fidget with my hands as he starts the engine. The silence feels heavy.
"I drive a yellow Mini Cooper," I announce, then immediately cringe. Why did I say that? "It's kind of ridiculous, but I love it."
He grins. "Yellow suits you."
My heart does this stupid little flip.
The drive to my place takes five minutes. When he pulls up to the curb, disappointment settles in my chest like a stone.
"Thank you," I say for what feels like the hundredth time. "For everything."
"No problem."
I don't want to get out. I don't want this night to end, don't want to never see him again.
I sit frozen in the passenger seat, my hand resting on the door handle but unable to pull it. Every part of me wants to stay right here in this moment, suspended in the warmth of his car, the faint scent of his woodsy cologne lingering in the air between us.
The idea of walking through my apartment door alone, of ending whatever this fragile thing is that's been building all night, feels unbearable. I can't shake the terrible certainty that if I step out now, I'll never see him again—that this will becomejust another almost-moment, another what-if that haunts me at three in the morning.
When I finally risk a glance at him, his face tells a story that mirrors my own—there's regret written in the slight downturn of his mouth, longing evident in how his dark eyes linger on mine, and something deeper, something unspoken and electric, hanging in the space between us like a question neither of us knows how to ask.
I finally find the common sense to grab the door handle and say goodbye.
He shoots me a sweet smile.
I make my way to the front entrance, my heart beating a mile a minute. I turn and shoot him another glance. He hasn't moved—he's making sure I make it in safely.
God help me if I ever see that guy again.
The building's lobby is quiet as I step inside, the door clicking shut behind me. Relief should flood through me, but instead, my chest feels tight, my thoughts still tangled up in Julian's dark eyes and that soft smile.
I climb the stairs to my second-floor apartment. When I step through the door, the familiar creak echoes loudly in the silence of my apartment. Daniel stands in the middle of the living room, his expression a mix of relief and worry.
"Liza!" he exhales, crossing the room in three brisk strides. "Where have you been? I've been texting and calling. You didn’t answer."
He pulls me into a crushing hug, and my heart stutters with a pang of guilt. Daniel’s arms are comforting, maybe even reassuring. "Where the hell have you been?"
"I—"
"I've been calling you for two hours, Liza. Two hours. Do you have any idea what went through my mind?"
"Daniel, I'm sorry—"
"You can't just disappear like that. You know how I get when I don't hear from you."
Heat flashes through me—not the good kind. "Well, maybe if you'd let me finish a sentence, I could explain."
He blinks, stepping back. "What happened?"
"I was at the convenience store. There was a robbery. They took my purse—my phone and my wallet. I'm sorry," I offer, my tone unintentionally sassy. "I would've texted back, but it turns out armed robbery makes it kind of hard to keep track of your phone."
His face drains of color. "What?"
