Especially how he cancelled on our dinner plans the third time, just a few nights ago.
Levi: Sorry. Coquitlam complex causing a mess. Working late tonight with Tae.
Tonight I’m hoping he’ll show, though. Maybe I’ll finally be able to give him the words. It’s not that I can’t get them out. It’s that the fear of him ignoring them is a thousand fold.
But now he’s even stopped saying them. Maybe it’s because I’ve never said them first and he got sick of it. Or maybe is because of—
I don’t let the thought finish. Instead, I tuck away the anxiety like I always do—smooth, invisible.
I slide my phone toward me as it pings. Already knowing it wouldn’t be him.
Then I murmur to Vivienne when I read the message, “Your car is here. Mom asked for Janette to bring her collection.”
She rolls eyes before hopping off the stool. “Mom and her personal fucking shoppers.”
I chuckle halfheartedly before walking her to her car.
Once she leaves to go back home to our parents, I sit on my couch, in the stifling silence of my apartment, staring listlessly at my kitchen cabinets. Wondering if I’ve done anything different in the past two weeks.
Because, perhaps it’s not Iris. Perhaps it’s… me.
??????
The click of the door startles me, even though I’ve been watching the clock for the past hour like a maniac.
He’s here.
I grab my phone, thumb hovering over the playlist I’ve prepped—the one I’ve foolishly named‘Levi’s favs’. Before I even hit play, I’m already halfway to the hallway, heart fluttering like it’s our second date, not oureleventh month.
Levi steps inside, setting down his duffel. His hair’s rumpled from the day, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, tie half-loosened. When his eyes meet mine, something tight in my chest unclenches.
He smiles. “God, I’ve missed you,” he says, voice low, worn.
That has to mean something, right?
I exhale the tension, hoping I’ve actually spun a fantasy out of control. “You’re late,” I tease, stepping into his space.
He dips his head, pressing a quick, hard kiss to my lips. “And I’ll spend the rest of the night making up for it.”
“Promises, Astor.”
“Threats, Wentworth.” He kicks off his shoes, dropping his set of my keys into the bowl by the entry like he lives here. Like this is also his home.
The thought makes my pulse do a stutter-step.
“I’m going to jump in the shower,” he says over his shoulder, already walking toward the ensuite. “I smell like twelve hours of hell.”
I grin easily. “I’ll get the dinner started. Don’t take forever or I’ll eat it without you.”
He grins his devilishly beautiful grin beforedisappearing. And I find myself wondering if I’m forcing the anxiety away, or he’s just that charming to get rid of it.
By the time he pads back into the kitchen, he’s in nothing but grey sweatpants, towel slung across his neck. Still toweling his hair, still every inch the walking distraction he has no idea he is. Or maybe he does, and he’s currently weaponizing it.
God. His torso is leaner now, more defined than even three months ago. I told him this protein shake would work.
His appetite changes so much that he wasn’t able to maintain the muscle he wanted. And now, here we are—biceps, abs, V-line.
I’m a damn puddle and dinner’s probably burning in the oven. “I’m starting to think you’re trying to seduce me,” I murmur, shocking even myself, fiddling with my pan just so I have a reason to not stare.
