His gaze shifted to her face as she pushed up onto her elbow. She took in the room with quick, assessing glances, as if she needed to get her bearings before looking at him.
Unease twisted in his gut.
“Morning.” His voice came rough, still thick with sleep, but steady.
She glanced at him, and for a moment, her gaze softened. Then it slipped away, replaced by something more guarded.
“Hey.” She sat up, pulling the sheet with her. “I... uh... I should get going.”
He pushed himself up on one elbow, frowning. “There’s no rush. You just woke up.”
“I know, I—” She dragged a hand through her hair, already scooting toward the edge of the bed. “I’ve... um... got stuff to do before work. And you probably need to get moving too.”
The words came out too fast, as though she’d already decided to leave before she’d even looked at him.
He watched her, trying to track the shift from a minute ago to now. Nothing about last night had felt rushed or uncertain. Nothing about this did either—except for the way she was already putting distance between them.
“You’ve got time.”
She shook her head, reaching for her clothes. “I’ll be fine. Really.”
That wasn’t the point.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, grabbing for his jeans. “At least let me walk you out.”
“No.” The word came out sharp, and she tempered it immediately. “You don’t have to. I know the way.”
His hands stilled on the denim. That didn’t sit right.
“You sure about that?” His voice stayed even, but there was an edge under it now.
She nodded, still not quite meeting his eyes as she dressed in a hurry. “Yeah. I’ll see you around.”
Around.
Like this was nothing. Like it had been just another night to her.
And wasn’t that a kick? Usually, that was his move. Now that the shoe was on the other foot, it didn’t feel so good.
She was gone before he could say anything else. The apartment felt different immediately—too empty, as if someone had yanked something from it without warning. Seth sat there for a second, staring at the spot she'd vacated moments earlier. The pillow retained the shape of her head, and the sheet was still warm from her body.
What the hell was that?
He scrubbed a hand over his face, palm rasping over his morning stubble, then stood and dragged his clothes on with little thought. Irritation took hold, not sharp enough to burn, but stubborn enough to persist.
It didn’t make sense. The way she’d shut him down so fast, then left without letting him walk her out.
None of it lined up with how things were the night before.
By the time he stepped in through the back door, the place was already alive. The smell of coffee hit first, strong and bitter, followed by bacon and eggs—Mya already in full swing. From the dining room, voices carried, chairs scraped, metal utensils clinked against ceramic plates, and a burst of laughter cut through it all.
Normal.
Everything normal.
Except him.
Paige sat at the kitchen table with Ashley in her high chair, trying to coax a bite while the toddler twisted this way and that, more interested in everything happening beyond the doorway than the spoon in front of her. Mya bustled between the stove and the dining room, carrying plates, bowls, and baskets filled with food in steady rotation.
