“You’re smug now.”
“I’ve had a milkshake. I’m powerful.”
She laughed, and the sound wrapped around me.
We walked home slowly after midnight.
At her building door, she hesitated, still wearing my jacket.
“Come up?” she asked.
Every sensible thought in my body went silent.
She saw my face and smiled softly.
“For coffee. And maybe to sit on the couch. And maybe because I don’t want to be alone yet.”
I cupped her cheek, brushing my thumb near that tiny freckle by her mouth.
“Then I’ll come up.”
Her apartment was dim and warm. She kicked off her heels with a groan of relief and made coffee neither of us needed. We sat on her couch close enough that her knee rested against mine.
After a while, she leaned into me.
I put my arm around her, and she settled there like trust was something physical.
“I had fun tonight,” she murmured. “Even with the scene.”
“Especially after?”
She tilted her face up.
“You looked proud of me.”
“I was.”
She kissed me slow and sweet.
Then she rested her head against my chest, and we stayed that way until the coffee went cold.
At 1:17, my phone buzzed on the table.
A text from an unknown number.
Stay away from Laya. You don’t know what she does to men.
I looked at the screen.
Then at Laya, asleep against my shoulder, peaceful for the first time all night.
I turned the phone face down and tightened my arm around her.
Whatever Adrien wanted, he could wait until morning.
Tonight, I chose her.
PART 3: THE WINDOW SHE OPENED
Morning arrived gray and soft.
Laya woke with her cheek against my chest, one hand curled in my shirt like she had made a claim in her sleep and refused to apologize for it.
For five minutes, I did not move.
Then she stirred.
Her eyes opened slowly, found mine, and warmed.
“Hi,” she whispered. “Did I drool on you?”
“A gentleman never tells.”
“So yes.”
“A little.”
She groaned and hid her face against me.
I laughed, and she pinched my side without lifting her head.
For a while, that was all we were.
Two people on a couch, tangled in the quiet after a night that had changed shape around us. No fake date. No family performance. No ex-boyfriend taking up space.
Then my phone buzzed again on the table.
Laya felt me tense.
“What is it?”
I reached for it, hesitated, then handed it to her.
“I got this last night.”
She read the message.
The softness left her face, but she did not crumble.
A new text sat beneath it.
Ask her why everyone leaves.
Laya stared at the screen for a long moment.
Then she handed it back.
“That’s Adrien,” she said.
“I figured.”
“He used to do this after fights. Say something cruel, then wait for me to panic and explain myself.”
“Do you want to?”
Her eyes lifted to mine.
“No,” she said. “I want breakfast.”
I smiled slowly.
“That is an excellent answer.”
She smiled back, but there was moisture in her eyes.
“And after breakfast, I want to block him. Maybe tell my sister. Maybe tell my mother to stop giving him access to me.”
“Big morning.”
“Very.”
I brushed my thumb along her knuckles.
“I’m here.”
“I know.” She squeezed my hand. “But Caleb?”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t want you to become my shield. I want you to be my choice.”
That sentence settled inside me like a key turning.
I leaned in and kissed her forehead.
“Then choose me for pancakes.”
Her laugh came out watery and perfect.
“Done.”
We made pancakes in her tiny kitchen with too much vanilla and not enough coordination.
She wore my wrinkled dress shirt over her green dress because she claimed it was culinary armor. I burned the first pancake badly enough that the smoke alarm complained. She stood on a chair, fanning it with sheet music, laughing so hard she nearly lost her balance.
I caught her by the waist for a second.
We stopped laughing.
Her hands rested on my shoulders.
Mine stayed at her hips.
Morning light traced her cheek, her mouth, the place where nerves and courage lived together in her eyes.
“I don’t want this to be just because last night was intense,” she said.
“It isn’t.”
“You’re sure?”
“I was sure before Adrien sent a single text.”
She swallowed.
“When?”
“When you opened your window and asked if the dress was too much.”
“That early?”
“I’m not saying I was rational.”
“No,” she said, smiling. “You were standing there holding coffee like a guilty raccoon.”
“I liked your face.”
“My face?”
“Your guilty, kind, handsome raccoon face.”
I kissed her because there was no possible response better than that.
After breakfast, Laya blocked Adrien.
Then she called Tessa, who swore creatively for three full minutes and promised to run interference with the family.
Then Laya called her mother.
I did not listen.
I went to the window and gave her privacy.
Across the alley, my own apartment looked oddly distant. My mug was still beside the stove. My life was still there. Tools. Unfinished projects. The walnut credenza waiting patiently.