Page 181 of Stranger to Love

A single tear escaped and tracked a path down her cheek. She looked at the phone on the counter like it was a venomous snake, her shoulders trembling.

Seeing her like that—broken and vulnerable—made me feel like a total prick. I’d never made her cry before. The urge to take it all back, to apologise and tell her I didn't mean it, was overwhelming. I just wanted her attention; I didn't want to break her heart.

Carrie quickly swiped at the tears, her jaw tight as she tried to rein in the composure that usually protected her. But it was too late; the cracks were already there. I couldn’t just sit across the table and watch her crumble under the weight of her own efforts to be perfect.

I pushed my chair back and rounded the table in two strides. Before she could protest or apologise, I was right there, pulling her chair out and kneeling between her legs so I could look up at her.

"Carrie, look at me," I said, taking both of her hands in mine. She eventually met my eyes, her lashes still wet. "I am so in love with you. I know how hard you work, and I know that in some twisted way, you actually enjoy your insane hours. I’m not asking you to stop being the powerhouse you are."

I squeezed her hands, my voice softening. "But I need you. Can we make a rule? A cut-off time in the evening, or a 'no-laptop' zone? Something so we both know that time is set aside for us. Because, honestly? Since moving in, I feel like I get less of you now than I did when we were sneaking around between classes."

Carrie’s breath hitched, and she leaned forward, resting her forehead against mine. She smelled like the expensive perfume she’d put on twelve hours prior and the faint scent of the office, but her skin was warm and real.

"I didn't realise," she whispered, her eyes fluttering shut. "I thought... I thought I was making up for lost time by ensuring your future was secure. I’ve spent so long being the one who has to hold everything together that I forgot how to just be with someone. I’ve never done this before, Alex.”

She pulled back just enough to frame my face with her hands, her thumbs tracing my jawline with a desperate kind of tenderness. "Seven o'clock," she said, her voice regaining a bit of its firm, decisive edge. "From seven o'clock onwards, the phone stays in the office. The laptop stays shut. And the only thing I focus on is the woman who was brave enough to tell me I was being a fool."

I let out a shaky laugh of relief, leaning into her palm. "You’re not a fool, Carrie. You’re just a lot."

"I am a lot," she agreed, a genuine, tired smile finally breaking through. She looked at the pasta bake on the table and then back at me. "And yet, you’re the only person who has ever looked at 'a lot' and asked for more. I don't deserve you, Alex, but I’m going to spend every evening from seven o'clock proving that I can keep you."

I shook my head, my hands sliding up to cover hers where they still cupped my face. "You deserve everything, Carrie. If I could provide all of this—the security, the house, the life—I would do it for you in a heartbeat. But I can’t give you those things yet. What I can do is this. I can ensure you get my time as much as I get yours."

Carrie’s gaze wavered, her eyes searching mine as if she was trying to memorise the sincerity there. She was so used to being the one holding the shield, the one with the money and the plan, that the idea of someone taking care of her—even just her time—seemed to stun her.

"I’m not just a project for you to fund, Carrie," I said, my voice dropping to a soft, fierce murmur. "I’m your partner. And partners don’t just live in the same house; they live in each other’s lives."

She let out a long, shuddering breath, the last of her professional rigidity finally dissolving. She pulled me upward until I was standing between her knees, her arms wrapping tightly around my waist as she buried her face against my stomach. I could feel her heart thudding against me, a fast, frantic rhythm that finally began to slow.

"I’ve spent half my life building walls," she mumbled into the fabric of my shirt. "I suppose I started building them here, too, without even realising. Thinking that if I gave you enough things, the walls wouldn't matter."

She pulled back, looking up at me with a soft, watery smile. "Seven o'clock, Alex. I mean it. I’ll set an alarm on my watch if I have to. The world can wait until morning. The university isn't going to collapse if I don't answer an email at eight p.m."

"And if it does," I smirked, running my fingers through her hair, "I’ve got a very fast silver car we can use to make our escape."

Carrie laughed—a real, gut-deep sound that cleared the heavy air in the room. She stood up, keeping her arm hooked firmly around my waist as she led me back toward the table.

"Then let’s eat this pasta bake before it gets cold," she said, her eyes bright and focused entirely on me. "And then, I believe you mentioned something about a horror film? I might need you to hold me through the scary parts, since I’m officially off the clock."

I winked at her, a playful, knowing glint in my eyes as I leaned in to steal a quick kiss. "Oh, I always do, Carrie. Don’t you worry about that."

The mood in the kitchen shifted instantly. The heavy, suffocating air of "Dr. Carter’s" boardroom schedule vanished, replaced by something warm and domestic. Carrie helped me dish up the pasta bake, and for the first time in weeks, she wasn't privilege to glance at the clock or check for the phantom vibration of a phone in her pocket. She was just there.

We ate at the table, talking about nothing and everything—my classes, her ridiculous colleagues, and the fact that I was still terrified of the first locked door in the hallway. She laughed, promising to show me what was behind it eventually, but only when I’d "earned the key."

Once the plates were cleared, Carrie made a show of walking over to the counter. She picked up her phone, marched toward her office, and I heard the distinct clack of her laying it on her desk and shutting the door behind her. She returned to the living room with her hands up in a mock surrender.

"Disconnected," she announced, her smile widening. "The world is officially on its own."

I was already buried under a mountain of blankets on the sofa, the opening credits of a particularly nasty-looking slasher flick even I hadn’t seen flickering on the screen. I patted the spot beside me. "Get in here, Carter. The killer is already in the house."

She didn't hesitate. She slid under the blankets, tucking herself into my side and resting her head on my shoulder. As the tension-building music started to swell, I felt her grip tighten on my arm.

"Alex?" She whispered as the first jump-scare loomed.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For calling me out."