It’s the most personal thing he’s ever told me. And it’s barely a crumb.
I don’t say anything right away. I just nod, letting it sit between us, not asking for more. Just holding it.
He gives me a small almost-smile.
I spot a brightly colored flyer pinned to the corkboard.
SEATTLE COUNTY FAIR — THIS WEEK ONLY!
Rides, games, food trucks, fireworks.
A tingle ripples through me. “Oh my God, the fair!” I glance back at him. “Ilovethe fair.”
But before the words have fully left my mouth, I see it. His whole body changes. The light drains from his face. His posture stiffens. His eyes go distant. He doesn’t say anything. He just blinks like he can’t even see me anymore and… walks away.
No explanation. No reaction. No goodbye. Just silence and retreat.
I’m left standing there, holding my keys, watching the elevator doors close behind him.
The warmth in my chest turns to ice.
What did I say?
No—what did Itouch?
Something in him just broke the surface, and I don’t know what it was.
A dull ache settles in my chest, not anger—worry.
Concern.
That awful, helpless feeling of watching someone you care about get pulled under by something you can’t see.
Finally, I tug open my little silver box 4B, expecting the usual: grocery flyers, an overdue electricity bill, maybe a coupon for pizza I’ll never order. Instead, a thick cream-colored envelope slides forward, teetering on the edge before dropping into my hand.
I stared at the envelope in my hand.Nathan Reignis written in a looping, feminine script across the front, and the return address is stamped with a name that makes my stomach tighten, even though I’ve never seen it before.
Maddison Morgan
Of course, the mailman screwed up again. Half the time, he shoves pizza flyers into my slot like my apartment is a recycling bin. But this isn’t a flyer. This is personal.
Respectful, sensible Ella knows what to do. Bring it upstairs, hand it to Nathan later, smile politely, and pretend I didn’t spend the elevator ride wondering what a letter fromthis womancould possibly say.
By the time I set it on my kitchen counter, I’ve already given myself the lecture ten times.It’s not yours. Don’t even think about it. Boundaries, Ella. You have them. Use them.My fingers get dangerously close to it again. My eyes refuse to leave. I should walk away. Walk. Away. Desperation has me in a chokehold, though. Desperate to dig away and give me something, since he refuses to give me any hints whatsoever.
“Ugh.” I groan into my hands. “No. No, Ella.” I do the only logical thing I can think of: run toward the bathroom, strip, and jump into the shower for the second time today before the temptation eats me alive.
I’m rinsing when I hear my front door creak open.
“Ella?” Ashton’s voice floats in, casual as ever. “I brought matcha. Don’t worry, I let myself in.”
I cup my hands around my mouth. “Be out in a second!”
She doesn’t answer.
Which should’ve been my first red flag. I keep washing my body anyway and focus on the soap, the smell, the feel—everything but the misplaced envelope in my apartment.
I groan into my hands and turn off the shower.
