Her thin pajama shorts brush her thighs with each step, the teddy bear pattern looking both silly and heartbreakingly cute under the moonlight.
The porch lights cast a soft, amber glow on the wooden steps. They’re slick with rain, and she carefully tests her footing, pressing her toes down gently.
She climbs one step, then another. She’s almost at the door when she pauses.
Like she felt the exact moment my breath caught.
She turns her head just enough to reveal her profile in the dim glow from the porch light, highlighting the delicate line of her jaw, the curve of her cheek, and the faint shimmer in her eyes from the firelight behind them.
Then she fully looks back at me.
Rain falls in silver ribbons between us, with thin drops catching the light as they slide from sky to earth, and we just stare at each other.
She looks at me as if she wants to say something, but the hesitation in her movements tells me otherwise.
“Goodnight, Reed.”
“Goodnight, Layla.”
The door clicks softly behind her, and the yard feels different without her in it.
I stand outside for a while in the rain, watching the glow from the kitchen window fade as the lights inside turn off.
Layla, the woman who laughs loudly, talks too much, and brings color into every room she walks into.
And yet, I can’t shake the memory of her voice cracking when she said she hadn’t heard those words in a long time.
I run my hand through my wet hair, my chest heavy with an unnamed feeling.
Because now I can’t stop wondering, the woman who radiates sunshine... is she hurting, just like me?
layla
. . .
The morning sun’s radiance spills across his kitchen with a natural brightness, sunrays warming the edges of the farmhouse table.
An open window carries the scent of damp earth and a faint trace of smoke from a neighbor’s early burn pile.
A gentle draft drifts through the room, brushing the loose sleeves of my gray pajama set.
The cotton fabric feels soft against my skin, comfortably oversized, and for once, I don’t feel the need to adjust myself to fit someone else’s idea of me.
My laptop sits open in front of me, the cursor blinking patiently in the middle of a paused frame from footage I’ve shot this trip.
I’m supposed to be editing, but it’s difficult to concentrate when the smell of strong coffee and freshly washed pine floors stands in quiet competition with my focus.
Grabbing the iced coffee Reed made for me earlier, I take a sip, savoring the brown sugar and vanilla.
It’s the perfect mix of sweet, without overpowering thecoffee flavor. The cool liquid slides down my throat, easing the tension that built up overnight.
The pitter-patter of rain cooling my skin. Reed’s uneven breath. His rough hand brushing my hair aside, and I can still feel the warmth of his fingertips. The way he looked at me was like I was the most beautiful woman in the world, and I wish he’d keep looking at me.
However, this guilt is consuming me.
Pulling my sleeves further over my hands, I immerse myself in the soft cotton.
I shouldn’t be enjoying this so much. I shouldn’t be enjoying his company as much as I am, and I especially shouldn’t be lusting after a man who sees me as a person, not as dollar signs.
