The wine settled warm in my chest, softening the sharp edges of thought. I didn't drink often, but tonight I let myself indulge.
A reward, maybe. For being civil. For not imagining his hands on me every time he lifted that glass to his lips.
The conversation drifted around me—Lina chattering about some show they were watching, David laughing occasionally, his eyes flicking between her and the plate. His attention was lazy. Relaxed. Like he didn't even realize how captivating he looked when he wasn't trying.
"I'm gonna grab dessert," Lina announced suddenly, hopping to her feet. "We still have that cheesecake from yesterday."
David leaned back in his chair. "That was your cheesecake. You didn't let me have more than one bite."
"That's because you eat like a bear," she called from the kitchen.
He smirked, then glanced at me. Just a flick of the eyes. And for a heartbeat too long, we were alone.
"You okay?" he asked.
It was a simple question. Kind. Casual.
And yet.
His voice, deeper now in the hush of Lina's absence, seemed to slide beneath my skin.
"I'm fine," I said softly, wrapping my fingers around the stem of the glass. "It's just been… a long few weeks."
He nodded, elbows resting on the table, his posture open. "Must be weird. Starting over."
I laughed, quiet. "Weird is one word."
"Any plans?" he asked. "I mean… after this?"
He didn't mean it cruelly. There was no malice in his voice. Just the innocent curiosity of a boy who didn't understand what it meant to be a woman who had already burned down a life.
I met his gaze. Golden against hazel.
His eyes were calm, unreadable.
"I don't know yet," I said. "But I'm sure I'll figure something out."
He gave me a small smile. Not flirtatious. Just warm.
But warmth, when you're starving, can feel like a feast.
Lina returned with dessert, oblivious to the shift. Plates were passed, cheesecake sliced, forks clinked. The moment faded like steam from the wineglass.
But it stayed with me.
That quiet, fleeting glance.
That tiny pause before he smiled.
And later—when they moved to the couch to watch something and I excused myself with a yawn—I stood at the top of the stairs, fingers trailing along the banister, listening.
Lina's laugh.
David's voice.
The shifting creak of cushions.
I imagined myself walking down again. Sitting beside them. Letting my robe fall just slightly askew. Nothing obscene. Just a hint. Just enough for David's eyes to hesitate before returning to the screen.
Would he look?
Would he wonder?
Or would he lean forward—close enough for my breath to catch—and say something low, something wicked, something only I could hear?
I closed my eyes and breathed slow, steady.
I wasn't going to touch myself.
Not tonight.
Not yet.
But my thighs pressed together on instinct as I turned down the hall toward Lina's old room—my room now—and shut the door behind me.
The fantasies weren't going away.
And the worst part was…
I didn't want them to stop.
I woke before the sun.
It wasn't restlessness—no, that came later. It was something else. A kind of slow-burning ache that clung to me through the night, winding itself into my limbs, my chest, my thighs. I tossed, turned, and finally gave up entirely.
The hallway creaked under my bare feet. The old house still smelled like childhood, like warm floors and dust and old shampoo, but nothing about me felt young anymore.
I wrapped my robe tighter and descended the stairs, quiet as breath.
The kitchen light was on.
For a moment, I froze. Just at the base of the steps.
Then I heard it—low, casual humming. A spoon against ceramic.
David.
He was standing by the counter, shirtless, wearing only a pair of loose black sweats that clung just enough to his hips to tease imagination. His back was to me—broad, golden under the kitchen light. There was a lean strength in his body, a quiet power that moved without needing to prove itself.
He hadn't heard me yet.
I stood there longer than I should have.
Watching.
Wanting.
And then—"Hey."
He turned slightly, catching me in the corner of his eye. His voice was soft, not startled. Just... welcoming.
I smiled, stepping into the room. "Morning."
"You're up early."
"Couldn't sleep."
He raised his mug slightly. "Want coffee?"
"Please."
He poured it for me without asking how I took it. Just milk. No sugar. I liked that.
I sat at the edge of the kitchen island while he moved. The muscles in his shoulders flexed faintly with every movement, and when he turned back toward me, I didn't look away fast enough.
His eyes met mine.
He smiled. "You okay?"
That question again. Simple. Innocent.
But there was something about the way he asked it that made my stomach flutter.
"I'm alright," I said, curling my fingers around the warm mug. "Just... getting used to everything. It's a little strange."
"I get that."
He leaned against the opposite counter, taking a slow sip.
For a moment, we were silent.
And then—he broke it.
"Lina said your ex was kind of a… cold guy."
I looked up, surprised. Not at the truth of it, but at the casual boldness of the remark.
"She talk about me often?"
He chuckled. "She talks a lot in general. But yeah. She said you deserved better."
I raised an eyebrow, smiling faintly. "And what does better look like?"
He tilted his head, considering me. "Someone who notices you."
My heart stilled.
Just for a second.
I let out a soft laugh. "You're very sweet."
"Just honest."
He said it plainly. No flirt. No edge.
But it landed like a spark.
The silence after felt warmer.
I sipped again, slower this time, letting the steam fog my thoughts. The robe brushed against my bare thigh, and I didn't bother adjusting it. I didn't need to.
David looked away, then back again.
"I'm gonna head out for a run before it gets hot."
He placed his mug in the sink, then stretched—arms overhead, abs flexing, breath deep and careless.
I swallowed.
"Enjoy your run."
He looked at me once more—something unreadable flickering behind his eyes—and then he nodded and walked past me.
I caught the faint scent of his skin.
I didn't breathe again until I heard the front door close.
And even then, I didn't move.
Just sat there, alone, heat between my legs and guilt pooling in my stomach.
He wasn't even trying.
That was what made it worse.
He wasn't even trying.