I tighten my grip on the steering wheel, letting out a slow breath. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid. One night is supposed to fade. It’s supposed to blur at the edges and soften into a memory you can tuck away and revisit safely in your own head without it disrupting everything else.
This doesn’t feel like anything like that. It feels like it’s following me home.
By the time I pull into my driveway, the longing for strong arms and passionate kisses has settled deeper insteadof lifting.
Home should fix that.
Home is my sanctuary.
My house looks exactly the same as it did when I left it. It’s neat, quiet, and predictable since Joelle and Little Caleb left. Everything has a place, and nothing moves unless I decide it should. I sit in the car for a moment after turning off the engine, staring at the front door, and reminding myself that this is my life. This is the version of me that makes sense. The version that meets approval.
I can squeeze myself back into the round peg that fits in the round hole. The corners I developed when I was wild and free with Mason and Brookes aren’t so sharp. They’ll be easy to sand away with a shower and a good night's sleep.
I grab my bag and head inside before I can think anymore.
The soft hum of the fridge greets me, along with the scents of home as I step through the door: my apple shower soap, and the cinnamon buns I made two days before I left for Joelle’s. It should feel comforting, but instead, it feels too quiet.
I set my bag down and head straight for the bathroom, turning the shower on hotter than usual, as though heat might wash away the lingering awareness still clinging to my skin, but every place the water touches feels more sensitive, as though my body hasn’t quite accepted that it’s over. My hands move over my skin without much thought, and memory follows immediately, vivid and uninvited. Between my legs, I’m slick and swollen, the residue of our arousal still present.
I brace my hands against the tile and close my eyes.
This is ridiculous.
It was one night.
So, why does it feel like a shift?
I finish quickly, step out, and wrap myself in a towel. For a moment, I avoid the mirror, but eventually I look anyway.
Joelle was right.
I do look different.
There’s a lightness in my expression that wasn’t there before. A brightness to my eyes. An upturn to the slant of my lips. I shake my head, dress in simple loungewear, and move through the house on autopilot. I unpack my bag, start a load of laundry, and make a cup of tea that I forget to drink.
Normal things.
I check over my calendar for the week, immersing myself back into Janey Summer’s life.
Then, my phone buzzes against the counter.
I glance over, expecting Joelle, but the screen lights up with a number I don’t recognize.
My stomach tightens slightly as I pick it up.
You made it home?
The message is simple with no name attached.
My pulse picks up. Mason. It has to be. Brookes wouldn’t open like that. I guess someone passed on my number.
I stare at the message for a moment, my thumb hovering over the screen as I consider ignoring it. That would be the sensible choice.
Before I can decide, the phone buzzes again.
Are you still thinking about last night?
My breath catches, and I set the phone down for a second as though it scalded me, pacing a few steps across the kitchen before stopping again.
