‘What am I apologising for?’ she parrots, looking at me in disbelief. ‘Was I hallucinating and I didn’t just have a complete breakdown back there?’
‘Is that what that was?’ I ask quietly. ‘A breakdown?’
She swallows and looks intently out the window. ‘I don’t know. I just…’ She presses a trembling hand to her chest. ‘I just couldn’tbreathe. Everyone was staring at me. Pointing. Whispering. Laughing. And I know they’ve been doing that for the last few months, but I guess… I guess it just finally got to me tonight.’ She lets out a soft sigh and lolls her head against the window. ‘And I’ve just given them more to talk about, I suppose.’
She closes her eyes and sighs again. For a moment, I just sit there and study her, watching as the tension slowly ebbs from her shoulders and exhaustion settles in its place.
I take her in – the soft curve of her mouth, the delicate fan of her lashes against her cheekbones, the faint shimmer of her tear tracks catching the light from the streetlamps outside as we crawl along. Even unravelled like this, Imani is breathtaking.
My chest tightens in a way I don’t want to examine too closely right now.
Then her eyes flicker open. Her gaze is hazy and blurred with unshed tears when it lands on me. I jerk away quickly, feeling like I’ve just been caught doing something I know I shouldn’t, and instead pretend to be fascinated by the blur of light outside the window.
‘Thank you,’ she says quietly.
I force myself to look at her again. She’s staring at me with wide, earnest eyes.
‘For getting me out of there,’ she clarifies. ‘You didn’t have to.’
Ididn’thave to, but I know I’d do it every time without hesitation. I shrug in what I hope is a nonchalant manner. ‘You needed me.’
Her lips part into a small ‘o’ shape and she cocks her head to the side, examining me thoughtfully. I wonder what she sees on my face because her lips suddenly twitch into a small but genuine smile. ‘I guess I did.’
The car pulls to a smooth stop in front of her building. I get out first, then circle around to her side, pull open her door and offer a hand without thinking. She takes it without hesitation and her palm slips into mine like it belongs there.Her hand is still slightly clammy but her fingers curl around mine with surprising steadiness.
She doesn’t let go.
Not as I help her out of the car. Not as we step through the glass doors of her building, nodding to the concierge as we pass him. Not even as we glide upwards in the sleek lift with only soft jazz music playing faintly over hidden speakers.
I don’t let go either. Not that I want to.
Her hand fits into mine the way puzzle pieces are meant to fit together. I tell myself that this is purely platonic and practical; that she still looks slightly shaky and fragile and that I want her to feel safe. But the truth hums beneath my skin.
I like it.
I like the weight of her hand in mine. I like how I can feel the warmth slowly seeping back into her skin with each passing second. I like how natural walking hand in hand with her feels, like we’ve been doing this forever.
When the doors to the lift open onto the penthouse level, Imani finally looks down at our joined hands as if she’s just noticed them. For a second I think she’s going to pull away and I ready the apology on the tip of my tongue. Instead, she gives my hand the faintest squeeze and starts walking down the short corridor, tugging me along with her.
Once we reach her door, she rifles through her bag and pulls out her keys. She has one hand still in mine. Her gaze flicks from the lock to me, down again to where our hands are still joined, and then back to me.
‘Do you want to come in?’ she blurts out suddenly.
‘I—’
‘Just because you walked me all the way up here,’ she says, interrupting me. ‘And I ruined the entire evening. Maybe even the whole plan.’
She categorically did not. If anything, the two of us alone without prying eyes and the constant flash of cameras around us is the best possible outcome to the evening.
‘I’d just feel a lot less like the worst person in the world if you had something to show for it,’ she continues. ‘Do you want a drink? I think I’ve got a bottle left in the wine fridge from the last time Sloane came over. Or tea? I’ve got a really good collection from when I visited Taiwan, or—’
She’s rambling and very clearly flustered. Her cheeks are darker than usual, her palms are getting increasingly clammy, and she’s looking anywhere but at me.
It’s ridiculous how attracted I am to her right now.
‘I’ve got a decent coffee collection if that’s—’
‘I’d love to,’ I say, and the smile she gives me, soft and shy, might just be one of my favourites yet.
