Page 42 of Smoke Signals

He stands and reaches for his clothes, movements unhurried. There’s no awkward scrambling, no embarrassment.

I sit on the edge of the bed, watching him, my mind running a thousand directions at once.

Last night happened. We crossed that line, and somehow the world didn’t implode.

Stellan pulls his shirt down, adjusts the hem, then glances at me.

“You good?” he asks again.

I nod. “Yeah.” I hesitate, then add, “I don’t regret it.”

His expression softens, something warm moving through his eyes.

“Neither do I.”

Another floorboard creaks down the hall.

We both go still.

“Okay,” I whisper, adrenaline spiking. “That’s probably her.”

He nods, already reaching for his jacket.

We move quietly toward the door, the apartment still wrapped in that early morning hush.

At the entryway, he turns back to me and for a second neither of us says anything. Then he lifts a hand, hesitating before brushing his knuckles lightly along my jaw.

My breath catches.

“I’ll text you later,” he says softly.

“Okay.”

He opens the door slowly so it doesn’t click too loud, then steps into the hallway.

Cold air slips in for a second before he pulls it shut behind him. The apartment goes quiet again as I stand there with my hand still half-lifted, like I forgot what I was doing.

From down the hall, a soft shuffle finally breaks the silence.

I turn just as Alaska appears at the end of the hallway, hair a tangled halo around her head, fox tucked under her arm. She pauses there for a second, watching me, quiet and observant.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” I say, my voice gentle.

She pads toward me in slow, sleepy steps and presses into my side without a word.

I wrap an arm around her, my hand settling at the back of her head.

“You okay?” I murmur.

She nods against my shirt.

I rest my cheek against the top of her head and breathe in the smell of shampoo and sleep.

I glance down the hall toward my bedroom, the sheets still rumpled, the faint warmth of someone else lingering in the air.

17

STELLAN