An hour of silence

I headed back upstairs, the scent of Matteo still clinging to the sheets, a powerful, lingering reminder of the passion we had shared just moments ago. I gathered the bedding into a heavy bundle and carried it down to the basement laundry room. The familiar weight of the fabric settled in my arms, a comforting anchor against the swirling emotions inside me. I tossed the bedding into the washing machine, added the detergent, and pushed the door shut. The final click felt jarringly absolute, a sharp punctuation mark on an afternoon that was anything but final.

After starting the cycle, I went back up to the main floor to grab a bottle of juice from the fridge. Just as I set it on the counter, the mundane silence of the house was shattered by the rapid-fire buzz of my phone. A hopeful flutter started in my chest; it had to be Matteo. My heart sank, however, when I saw the name on the screen. Mike. Three texts had come through in quick succession. Without even bothering to read them, I swiped and deleted them all. The thought of him sent a wave of annoyance through me, and for a fleeting moment, I considered moving to the next town over just to escape him. The beautiful house I’d looked at would have made a good buffer, but the twenty-minute addition to my commute, the stress of moving, and the drain on my time felt like too high a price to pay for a man who would still attend the same church. It wasn't worth the hassle, the money, or the drama.

I returned to the basement to transfer the bedding to the dryer and turned it on. Back upstairs, I finally took a sip of the juice. Another thirty minutes passed without a word from Matteo. The silence was unnerving. I finally called him, but it went straight to voicemail. “Are you okay, Matteo? It’s been over an hour and I haven’t heard from you. I’m calling to make sure you’re alright. I’m very worried.”

By the time I was pulling the warm bedding out of the dryer an hour later, my phone rang. The name on the screen made my blood run cold: Dr. Maddie Jones, the ER physician who had treated me multiple times during the whole Xavier fiasco.

“Hi, it’s Dr. Jones,” she said, her voice laced with urgency. “Matteo is in the ER and has been asking for you.”

“I’ll be there in twelve minutes,” I said, the words a blur, and hung up. The basket of folded laundry fell from my hands, spilling onto the basement floor but I didn’t care. Matteo’s well-being was all that mattered.

I scrambled through the house, snatching my purse, phone charger, and keys. My car screamed to life as I turned the ignition, and I raced toward the hospital, breaking the speed limit without a second thought. I arrived in a record eight minutes, my heart pounding in my chest as I jogged toward the ER entrance. Max, a nurse I recognized from treating me, greeted me and led me to Matteo’s room. He was half-asleep, his eyelids heavy from the pain medication. The sight of him was devastating. His face was a patchwork of bruises, one eye was black, and his arms and upper torso were covered in dark contusions.

Max guided me back into the hallway to give Matteo privacy. “When he arrived,” he explained softly, “Matteo filled out forms stating that you are his emergency contact and that we could share PPI and HIPAA information with you.”

“What happened?” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

“He was in a car accident. Police are at the scene, and Dr. Jones and I are taking care of him,” Max said.

“Oh my god… is he going to be alright?” I asked. “How bad is it? Please, tell me he’s going to be okay. Thank you for taking care of him, Max.”

“I know you’re scared,” he said, his expression full of empathy. “I promise we’re doing everything for him. He’s stable, but he’s in a lot of pain. We’ll let you in as soon as it’s safe. We’ll get you to him soon, I promise.”

“Can I… stay with him?” I asked, voice trembling.

Max looked at me and nodded. “Yes. We’ll make that happen.”

I settled into a chair next to Matteo after Dr. Jones left twenty minutes later, holding his hand, feeling the warmth of his pulse through the thin hospital blanket. The night passed in broken stretches of sleep and quiet moments, punctuated by his soft groans as he shifted. I stayed, never letting go of his hand, brushing his hair back from his forehead when he murmured my name in half-sleep.

By morning, Matteo was awake enough to speak, his voice hoarse and weak. “Depp…Grl?”

“I’m right here,” I whispered. “Don’t move, just rest.”

He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes again, and I continued to sit, watching the rise and fall of his chest. The rhythmic beeping of the monitors became a strange lullaby, underscoring the intimacy of being there for him.

By late morning, I helped him sit upright, adjusting pillows to ease his discomfort. “Breakfast? I can bring you something.”

“I’m not hungry,” he admitted. “But glad you’re here.”

Just then, two uniformed police officers appeared in the doorway. “Good morning, sir,” one said. “We’re here to speak with you about the car accident.”

Matteo’s heart rate spiked instantly, his hand gripping mine tighter. “No… not now… please…”

I stood quickly, guiding the officers into the hallway. “He’s in a lot of pain. Can you give me a moment?”

“Of course,” one replied, calm but firm as they followed me out into the hallway.

I turned to the officers. “Do you have any idea who caused this?”

The taller officer looked at me seriously. “Your neighbor, Mike, admitted to tampering with his car. He claims it was minor, but apparently it was just enough to cause this accident.”

My blood ran cold. “Was he arrested?”

The officer shook his head. “Not yet. He’s being investigated. Statements from witnesses are corroborating the story that it wasn’t an accident entirely. The investigation is ongoing.”

I exhaled sharply and walked back to Matteo, taking his hand again. “He’s not going to get away with this,” I murmured, my voice trembling. “Thank you.”

I headed back into Matteo’s room. Matteo’s eyes filled with frustration. “I…”

“I know,” I said softly. “Right now, we focus on you. We’ll handle him later. You just rest, okay?”

Matteo squeezed my hand weakly, then took a shaky breath. “Okay… but… I remember… the moment… tire… slipping… and… I think I know who… it’s… Mike.”

“Mike?” I echoed, my stomach twisting with the awful realization that he had heard the police tell me  

“Yes,” Matteo said, voice hoarse but firm. “Jealous… he… he did it. Tampered… car… just enough… make accident… I almost… I almost didn’t… survive…”

Tears pricked my eyes as I held him tighter. “You’re safe now. That’s what matters. We’ll make sure he’s held responsible. Right now, you rest, Matteo. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

He exhaled, relief mixing with lingering fear. “Thank… you… for… staying.”

“Always,” I whispered, brushing my fingers over his bruised hand. “We’ll get through this… together.”

The hospital room felt still for a long moment, the weight of the revelation settling in. But with my hand in his, Matteo’s fragile strength returned bit by bit. And for the first time since the accident, he seemed certain that justice—and safety—would follow.

I stepped out of the hospital room and pulled my phone from my purse, my fingers fumbling as I dialed Kay’s number. She answered on the second ring, her voice crisp and professional.

“Kay, it’s me,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “Something happened. Matteo’s in the ER.”

I quickly recounted the events of the last twelve hours. There was a pause on the other end, and then I heard her take a deep, steadying breath.

“I’ll call the police now,” she said, her voice filled with a calm authority that I desperately needed. “I’ll tell them you want to take legal action against Mike on Matteo’s behalf.”

I listened as she laid out the plan. “Once I get that squared away, I’ll reach out to his car insurance company with the police report. I’ll explain that I’m now representing Matteo.”

A wave of relief washed over me. “Thank you, Kay. It’s time for a truce.”

“I agree,” she said. “Let’s get this sorted.”

We hung up and I rejoined Matteo, my heart feeling a little lighter with every step.

A few minutes later, Dr. Jones came in, her face holding a tired but reassuring smile. She explained the results of the second round of scans. “No broken bones, which is a huge relief,” she said. “But his lungs, ribs, and a shoulder muscle are strained. He also has a concussion, so he’ll need to be very careful with any movement. Taking care of himself will be tough for a while.”

I nodded, my mind already racing through the logistics. “I’ll take care of him.”

As Dr. Jones left, Tara came running into the room, her voice frantic. “I just got a call from Kay! She wants to know what I can do to help!”

Matteo, his eyes still heavy, managed a faint smile. “The first thing you can do is stop shouting,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Tara’s face flushed, and she nodded, pulling her phone from her pocket. I stepped forward and took her arm. “Just run the business,” I told her. “Reach out to Kay and me if you need anything at all.” She nodded again, her expression serious, and left the room.

Max returned with a handful of instant ice packs, bottles of prescription-strength Motrin and Tylenol, and a stack of discharge papers. As Matteo slowly got dressed, someone came with a wheelchair for him to use. I walked out to the parking lot and brought my car around to the front entrance, just as Max was wheeling Matteo out.

Once he was settled in the passenger seat, I started the car. “Are we going to your house?” he asked, a flicker of nervousness in his eyes.

“Yes,” I said softly. “Mike was arrested and then released into his ex-wife’s custody, so he’s there. He’s not a threat anymore.” A wave of relief washed over his face.

The twelve-minute drive home took a slow thirty minutes as I drove carefully, wincing at every small bump in the road that made him flinch.

Kay met us at my house and helped me get Matteo inside. She then left to go to his house to get him clothes and other things he’d need. I took a moment to call Matteo's boss. He happened to be friends with the police officer who had been at the hospital and told me he had already arranged a week of leave for Matteo. I thanked him profusely before helping Matteo get settled.

I helped him shower and put him in the spare bedroom since I hadn’t finished making my bed. Once I was sure he was asleep, I went downstairs, tossed the bedding back into the washer, added detergent, and started the cycle. I then went back upstairs to take a shower.

Afterwards, I found Matteo still asleep and went downstairs again, grabbing a few bananas and some bottled water. I carried them up to the spare room. I then went down to the basement to move the bedding to the dryer. When I finally returned upstairs, I slipped into the bed beside Matteo.

We slept for a few hours before we woke up. He was in pain, so he ate a few bananas and took his medication with the water. I asked if he wanted ice packs or heat, and he chose ice packs.

While I was downstairs, I refolded the bedding from the dryer and put it back in the basket. I placed the basket on the counter, grabbed some ice packs, and brought everything up to the spare room.

As I was applying the ice packs, Kay texted me to say she had some of his clothes—and knowing her, it was probably enough for three weeks—as well as enough food to last several millennia. I thanked her and told her she could drop his things in the living room since we were in the guest room and he was undressed.

When I heard her in the hallway, I stepped out, headed downstairs and gave her a hug. She told me that Mike's case would be handled as a civil matter, and she was pushing for a quick resolution. Since Mike didn't have a lawyer and wanted to handle it himself, he had already agreed to pay for all legal fees, a new car, and all of Matteo's medical bills and therapy if needed. I asked her to hold on for a second.

I stepped back into the guest room to tell Matteo what was happening. He pulled the sheet and blanket up to his chin and told me to let Kay in. I did, and he nodded in agreement, accepting the offer. Kay told him that since she was working pro bono, she would not be pushing for legal fees. He nodded again and asked how long the process would take. Kay told him it could take a few weeks but that she would push for it to be resolved within a week. He agreed.

I led Kay back to the front door. She told me that Mike felt horrible and, in the heat of the moment, had only wanted to scare Matteo out of jealousy. Mike had said he would stay away while Matteo was at my house and would stay elsewhere until otherwise said. I asked Kay, “What if he was asked to move?” She shook her head. “It doesn’t look like he would be forced to move.” I nodded, and she left.

I went back upstairs with a few more ice packs for Matteo, but he had fallen back to sleep. I gently replaced the ice packs on his side and put the melted ones back in the freezer. A quick glance at the clock showed it was almost seven, and I knew I needed to eat. I went back downstairs and heated up some of the food Kay had brought over.

Just as I was about to eat, I heard a knock on the front door. I opened it to see Vince, Vic, and Randy all standing there. “What are you guys doing here?” I asked, shocked.

Vince pushed the door open the rest of the way, and they all came inside. “Kay called me,” he said. “She said you guys needed some moral support.” They all hugged me, one by one. “How can we help?” Vic asked, and Randy nodded in agreement.

“That’s so sweet,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “Matteo is sleeping right now, and he needs to get dressed first and then you guys can all hang out.” They all nodded, and I went upstairs to tell Matteo that they were here.

“I’m so glad you guys are here,” Matteo said, his voice still a little groggy. “I need to get dressed first, then you can help me get downstairs, but I also need some more pain meds.”

I helped him get out of the bed and into a comfortable t-shirt and sweats. He was in too much pain to walk, so I asked the men if they could help him down the stairs. They carried him down carefully, his moans of pain quiet with each jarring step. They helped me get him some food and another pain med.

“You guys can take over now,” I said. “You can do whatever you need to do.” I looked at my phone and saw it was seven, and I knew I needed to get out for a little bit. “I'm going to the office.”

They all nodded, and I left, grateful for a moment to breathe. I got to the office just as Tara and Kay were leaving. “Hey!” Tara said, a look of surprise on her face. “What are you doing here?”

They both hugged me, and we all went back inside. We talked business for a bit, then they both left, giving me a final hug. I texted Vince. “I’m going to nap at the office for a bit and will be home in about thirty minutes.” He texted back, “Okay.”

I fell asleep quickly and woke up forty-five minutes later to a call from Vince. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice laced with panic.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said groggily. “I just overslept my alarm. I’m on my way now.” I heard him let out a breath of relief. “Okay, thank god. See you soon.”

When I got home, Vic and Randy were gone, as it had been overwhelming for Matteo. Vince stayed, though, and I sank into his arms, a sigh of relief escaping me. “Thank you,” I whispered.

He kissed the top of my head and gently pulled away. “Matteo ate really well,” he said. “And I took the liberty of making the bed in your room and moving him. Between the adrenaline p, the accident and everything culminating afterwards drained him. The bedding from the guest room is in the wash, and the second set of bedding is now on that bed.”

That's when I saw Vince's weekend bag by the front door. I pulled away and looked at him. “I’m here to help you and Matteo,” he said simply.

“I’m not sharing a bed with anyone but Matteo,” I said, my voice firm.

“I didn’t expect anything less,” he said, a gentle smile on his face.

“What do you need?” I asked, and he said he was fine. “I had great company, got to know Matteo, had wonderful food, one of your amazing hugs, and I’m happy you’re home safely,” he said. Before heading to the kitchen for water, I asked him, “Am I going to need to clean anything up?” He shook his head. “No, but there’s food ready for you in case you want some.” I thanked him, and he went to the guest room. I opened the freezer, and there was a pint of ice cream with a sticky note on it with my name. On the counter was a spoon, a napkin, and my extra-extra-extra large travel mug, filled with ice water. I smiled to myself, touched by the thoughtfulness.

I ate the ice cream, tossed the spoon into the sink, and the carton and napkin into the garbage. I grabbed my water and headed upstairs. I took out my contacts, stripped, and joined Matteo in my bed.

“Welcome back,” he told me as he pulled me closer. “Thank you for everything.” He kissed me gently then fell asleep.

A few hours later, he woke up screaming from a nightmare. The nightmare was living through the accident again. I called his primary doctor, who came over within a few minutes. Vince came running down the hall and sat with him as I put on a robe and went to get more water, ice packs, food, and pain meds for Matteo.

I let his doctor in and brought him upstairs, telling him everything on the way up. When we got to my room, Matteo was more calm. The doctor turned to Vince and asked, “Which medication did he just take?” Vince replied, “It was the Motrin.”

The doctor sighed in relief. He turned to Matteo and asked, “Would you like a mild sedative so you could sleep through the night?” Matteo said he would as long as it wouldn't interfere with the pain meds he was taking. The doctor said that he’d give Melatonin and left the bottle by him.

As the doctor headed toward the bedroom door, I thanked him for coming. He said it was his pleasure and that if anything changed for the worse, to bring Matteo to the ER and to call him immediately. I promised.

I went back upstairs. Matteo was falling asleep but was still in pain, so I grabbed the melted ice packs and switched them for frozen ones. I took my robe off and rejoined Matteo back in bed.

A soft knock on the partially open door, and Vince popped his head in. He offered to use the rocking chair in the corner while I slept in the guest room so I could get some sleep and he could stay with Matteo. I said that I'd be sleeping in the room and that he was more than welcome to sleep in the hallway so he could be closer in case Matteo woke up again. He nodded, then grabbed his sleeping bag from his car and came back, setting up everything in the hall.

In no time, Vince and Matteo were asleep, but I was wide awake. When dawn broke, I heard Vince get up, shower, get dressed, and make some coffee. He asked me, “How was the rest of the night?” I said that it was quiet but I was in need of sleep. He said that he would set up the pull-out couch downstairs so he could watch over Matteo while I slept. I thanked him.

As he was taking care of that, I got up, put my robe on, and started slowly taking down Matteo's meds (including the melatonin), the empty water bottles for recycling, and a few blankets.

Vince came back up, helped me wake Matteo. I helped Matteo in the bathroom to brush his teeth and use the restroom, and Vince helped him get downstairs. I joined them a moment later once Matteo was set on the pull-out couch.

I gently sat down next to Matteo and asked, “Do you mind Vince helping you out as I rest?” He said, “No, I don’t mind. Knowing the history between the two of you and that you’ll always be connected.”

I laughed quietly and gently kissed him. I turned to Vince and told him to wake me if he needed help. As I headed upstairs, I sent Vince Matteo’s primary doctor’s contact information. I took my robe off again and laid down. I was asleep in seconds.

A spark rekindled

I grabbed my purse from the sanctuary and left Mike, along with his two kids at the church. A half-mile into my walk home, I heard a voice call out, "Hey! Get in! It's too hot to be walking!" I looked up to see my neighbor from across the street, Deb, waving me over.

"Are you sure?" I asked, grateful for the unexpected offer.

"Absolutely," she said, gesturing to the open passenger door of her SUV. "Hop in. Let me get you home."

I got in, and she didn't ask much. As we drove, she glanced over at me. "Are you doing okay? You seem a little rattled."

"I'm fine, really," I said, offering her a smile. "Just a long morning."

She nodded and pulled into her driveway. As we got out of the car, I thanked her again. "Thanks so much for the ride, Deb. You were a lifesaver."

"You're welcome," she said simply. "I'm just glad to help."

As soon as I was inside my house, I texted Mike. "I'm home safe."

His response came a moment later: "Thanks for letting me know."

I went upstairs to change when my phone rang. It was Matteo.

"Hi," I said, picking up.

"You're not going to believe what happened," he began. "I walked into my house recently and found my now former fiancée fucking his cousin. The engagement is over."

"Oh my god, Matteo," I said, my voice full of sympathy. "I'm so incredibly sorry to hear that. That's just awful."

"Thanks," he said quietly. "It's a mess."

"Are you free this afternoon?" he asked. "I'd love to come over if you are. I'll bring some food and wine."

"Yes, I'm free," I replied. "Come on over."

"I'll be there in about an hour," he said.

"Sounds good," I said, and ended the call.

I finished changing and tidied up the house a bit. I knew Matteo was fastidious with his appearance and grooming, so I knew he'd be a little longer than an hour. I'm appreciative that he takes care of himself, and I knew he'd want to look his best, even after a day like this.

A little over an hour later, the doorbell rang. I opened the door to see Matteo standing there, looking exhausted but still put together. He leaned down to kiss me gently on the lips and then kicked his shoes off. As I was closing the door, I glanced across the street and saw Mike looking at me from his front door. I immediately shut the door.

I followed Matteo into the kitchen as he brought in the fast food and wine. "I figured fast food was one of the ways to help me," he said, setting the bags on the counter.

I laughed. "And what else do you think would help?" I asked.

He turned bright red, winked at me, and said, "I was hoping you could help with that part."

"I'd be happy to," I said with a laugh.

We ate the fast food and drank some of the wine, which honestly, didn't go with the food. As we ate, he told me the full story: after a particularly long day of teaching and coaching, he walked in on his now former fiancée fucking his cousin—the same cousin that was going to be his best man.

"That's just unbelievably terrible."

My heart ached for him. The reality of his pain hung in the air, heavy and raw. I slowly set my wine glass down on the coffee table, the clink of glass on wood echoing in the quiet room. Before I could say another word, Matteo leaned over, his eyes searching mine. His hand cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing away an unfallen tear that I hadn’t even realized was there.

He kissed me, but it wasn't the tentative, gentle kiss he'd given me at the door. This one was deeper, more assured. It was a kiss of shared comfort and a silent promise of something more. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, our breaths mingling. The weight of the moment was profound. The fast food, the bad wine, the devastating story he'd just told me—it all felt like background noise to this single, intense moment.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice husky. "I shouldn't have..."

"Don't," I said, my voice barely a whisper. I reached up and tangled my fingers in his hair, pulling his lips back to mine. This wasn't about comforting a friend anymore; it was about two people finding a sanctuary in each other's sadness. The kiss deepened, and the fast food was forgotten. The wine was forgotten. His ex-fiancée was forgotten. Everything was forgotten but this.

After a long while, we broke apart. He didn't pull away completely, just shifted so he could look into my eyes. "Is it okay?" he asked.

I gave a small, genuine smile. "It's more than okay," I said. "It's exactly what I needed."

He took my hand, lacing our fingers together. A soft smile broke across his face, the first one I'd seen all night that wasn't tinged with pain. "Me too," he said.

I looked at him, and in that quiet moment, a different kind of thought formed in my head. "Do you want to go upstairs?" I asked.

He gave me a simple, solid nod. "Yes."

We began to gather the remains of our lunch. I picked up the half-empty bottle of wine and the two glasses, while Matteo grabbed the fast food bags. "I've got this," he said. “I brought the food and the wine….I’ll clean up.”

“Thank you,” I said.

We quickly brought everything into the kitchen. Then, hand in hand, we walked upstairs to my bedroom. As soon as we entered the room, our clothes began to come off, and soon we were both naked. I wasn't entirely sure if he was truly in the mood for sex, given the emotional turmoil he'd just shared with me. But his eyes, full of fire, and the way he had just kissed me told a different story. It was clear from his actions that he was looking for more than just comfort.

We both got on the bed, and our lips met in a passionate kiss. After a few moments of kissing and our hands roaming the other’s body, Matteo pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes full of fire. He then gently moved to spread my legs. He leaned down and began to eat my pussy, using his lips, tongue, and teeth to devour me. "Oh, God, Matteo..." I moaned, as I climaxed repeatedly on his tongue, my hands clutching his hair as my hips bucked. "Yes! Oh, yes!" I cried. Just when I didn't think I could cum again, I did, my final cry echoing in the room. After that last, shuddering climax, he rose and quickly lined up his massive dick to my pussy. In one swift, forceful thrust, his dick was deep inside of me. My breath hitched. His size was overwhelming, a delightful ache that filled me completely. He held still for a moment, letting us both adjust to the sensation, his eyes locked on mine. "God, you feel so good," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "So unbelievably good."

He began to move, slowly at first, a long, deep pull and then a return. "Oh," I gasped, my fingers digging into his back. "Matteo..." The pace quickened, becoming a steady rhythm, a primal dance of our bodies moving together. My hips rose to meet each of his thrusts, and I could feel my release building once more. "Don't stop," I pleaded, a breathless whisper that he seemed to understand instinctively. His pace intensified, and the room was filled with the sounds of our breathing.

My body convulsed with another climax, then another, each one more powerful than the last. He groaned, a deep sound in the back of his throat, his body tensing with the force of his own release. My legs clamped around his waist as he pushed in one final, deep thrust and poured himself into me. We both collapsed, breathless and spent our bodies entwined in the soft sheets.

After a long while, our breathing returned to normal. We slowly disentangled ourselves from one another and began to get dressed. Matteo looked at his watch, a sigh escaping his lips. "It's late," he said softly. "I still need to prepare for teaching and coaching tomorrow. I dread Mondays."

We headed downstairs. Matteo grabbed his phone, wallet, and keys. I walked him to the front door. He'd opened the door and neither one of us noticed that Mike was there walking from his SUV to his front door. My door opening caught Mike's attention.

Matteo bent down to kiss me gently and I gladly leaned into the kiss. We heard someone clear their throat and we both looked to see who it was and that's when we noticed it was Mike.

"Mike," Matteo said, stepping in front of me as if to protect me.

"Matteo," Mike replied, a slight smirk on his face. "Didn't expect to see you here."

"I was just visiting. I should get going," Matteo said smoothly, keeping his body positioned between us.

He turned back to me and his hands cupped my face. He kissed me a bit longer this time, a deeper and more meaningful kiss that felt like a promise. "Thanks for this afternoon, doll. We need to do this again."

I smiled at him. "We do." I reached for his hand. "Text me when you get home."

He squeezed my hand. "I promise." He then turned, got in his car, and drove away.

Mike began to walk over to me, but I cut him off. "Don't. I don't want to hear it."

"I thought we had something," he started to say, his voice low.

I cut him off again. "We did, until you decided you had the right to judge how I live my life." I turned and walked back into my house, shutting the door in Mike's face.

It wasn't the most adult thing to do by shutting the door in Mike's face, but he wasn't going to ruin the afternoon that I had with Matteo. Sure, I felt bad that his former fiancée was found fucking his cousin but I didn't regret the fast food, mediocre wine and the great sex we had.

I was slightly happy that Matteo was single again because despite how he and I ended, I still had some lingering feelings for him that I hadn't let myself acknowledge until now. Our past had been messy, and the breakup had stung, but this afternoon felt like it was wiping the slate clean. The candid conversation, the easy intimacy, and the incredible sex we had just shared made me realize that the old feelings weren't just a memory; they were a spark ready to ignite. I found myself wondering, cautiously and excitedly, what it would be like to actually explore this connection again and see where things could go this time.

Sunlit summer moving

The sun slipped through my blinds, brushing my face with warmth that pulled me reluctantly from sleep. I stretched, the scent of summer air drifting through the open window, carrying hints of freshly mowed grass and the faint aroma of the neighbor's hydrangeas, plump and blue like little clouds. I stayed for a moment in the soft morning light, my mind replaying a brief text conversation from the night before—a simple "See you tomorrow?" followed by Mike's equally simple "Looking forward to it."

I had never anticipated a sequel to our story. We had been a chapter of my life I’d assumed was finished, a beautifully written but self-contained volume I would occasionally pull from the shelf to reread, but never one I expected to continue. His return to the neighborhood, after all this time, felt less like a new beginning and more like a ghost suddenly sitting down at my kitchen counter.

I moved toward the kitchen, the cool wood floors a welcome shock under my feet. The first thing I did was set about breakfast, a ritual I found comfort in. I laid five strips of bacon on the skillet, listening to the happy, greasy song as the pan filled with sizzling fat. I then carefully cracked three fresh eggs into a bowl, whisking them until they were a uniform pale yellow. The scent of bacon filled the room, and I added the eggs to the pan, stirring them slowly until they formed soft, buttery curds. After removing the bacon and eggs, I pressed a few slices of bread into the hot grease, letting them crisp up and soak in the rich flavor. I didn’t bother setting the table; instead, I stood at the counter, fork in hand, savoring each bite. It was the small domesticity of a life I had built for myself, piece by piece. But thoughts of Mike crept in, uninvited but not unwelcome. I thought of our conversation yesterday, the way he smiled when he mentioned his SUV, a small, wry curve of his lips that was exactly how I remembered it. He’d seemed… different. Older, maybe. More settled. The chaos that had always swirled around him, the restless energy, seemed to have been replaced by a quiet, determined calm. It was a good look on him.

By the time I finished, I had decided I’d walk over to Mike’s to see if he wanted any help with settling in. I didn’t bother grabbing keys or my wallet; the house was only a short walk, barely a couple hundred feet through the summer-warmed grass to his new front door. My feet carried me over the familiar path. I could see his large, dark SUV parked out front, its back hatch a gaping maw as he adjusted a few things inside. He was wearing an old t-shirt from a local brewery we used to frequent, and my chest gave a little, unexpected flutter.

“Hey,” I said lightly, keeping my tone casual, as if seeing him again after all these years was no big deal. “Need a hand with anything?”

Mike looked up, and a wave of relief and a wide smile crossed his face. “Actually, yeah. If you don’t mind, a few boxes from the garage could use another set of hands. They’re a bit heavier than I thought.”

We moved at a steady rhythm, carrying boxes from the SUV to the garage and then to the house. Nothing chaotic, nothing rushed—just two people falling into a comfortable cooperation. The air was thick with the scent of cardboard and Mike’s understated cologne. We worked in a comfortable silence, broken only by the sound of our feet on the pavement, until he finally broke it.

“You haven’t changed at all,” he said, his voice a low rumble. He leaned against the open hatch of the SUV, wiping sweat from his brow.

“I could say the same,” I replied, taking a gulp of water from the bottle he’d handed me. “You still can’t lift more than two boxes at a time without complaining.”

He laughed, the sound warm and familiar. “You’ve got the lighter boxes, obviously,” he joked as I lifted a particularly heavy one labeled ‘BOOKS.’

“I’m saving you from injury,” I said, grinning. “You can thank me later.”

“Oh, I will,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “I’m a big believer in showing my gratitude.”

Once the boxes were inside, I paused to catch my breath and noticed a photo lying on a small table near the entryway. I picked it up carefully, my fingers tracing the outline of a simple wooden frame. It was Mike and two children. A girl with wide, curious eyes and a boy with a mischievous smile, both with a smattering of freckles across their noses. They were standing on a beach, waves lapping at their ankles. He saw me studying it.

“Those are Sydney and Dixon,” he said quietly, his voice softening. “Eight and six.”

I nodded, keeping my expression neutral, but inside a complicated mix of emotions roiled. We had already established my feelings about kids, and Mike respected that. My decision not to have them wasn’t something I ever hid, and it had been one of the many reasons we had drifted apart all those years ago. It was a chasm that was too wide to bridge. And yet, seeing this photo, seeing the clear love in his eyes as he looked at them, a small, sharp pang of something—jealousy? regret?—pierced through my carefully constructed composure. I didn’t press him for more. The unspoken understanding between us was enough.

“You know, I’m feeling pretty grimy,” I said, setting the photo back down, the image of his family still seared into my mind. “How about we take a shower break? I’ll head back to my place, and you can take a quick one here. Then we can do lunch at my place?”

He agreed with a nod. “Sounds good. I’m starving.”

I headed home to shower, and the cool water felt like a balm on my skin after the morning's work. I put on a fresh, comfortable t-shirt and shorts. Feeling refreshed, I returned to my kitchen and laid out the ingredients for sandwiches—fresh bread, deli meats, a platter of different cheeses, a bowl of chips, and a couple cans of soda. Mike showed up a few minutes later, looking equally refreshed. His eyes lit up. “The full spread,” he said, grabbing a slice of turkey. “You always did know how to do lunch right.”

I got to work assembling mine while Mike did the same, stacking his sandwich impossibly high. The morning had been warm, and we both appreciated the simple pleasure of sitting at the table, eating, and chatting. Conversation drifted from light teasing about our work pace to observations about the neighborhood, finally landing on memories from years ago. We talked about a disastrous camping trip where our tent collapsed in a downpour and a time we got lost in a city we’d only been to once. The shared memories felt like a language only we understood, a secret shorthand we had never forgotten.

“You haven’t changed much,” Mike said with a smirk as I laughed at one of his jokes.

“I could say the same,” I replied, taking a bite of my sandwich. “You’re still the only person who can make me laugh so hard I can’t breathe.”

Lunch passed easily, accompanied by laughter and stories neither of us had told in years. Afterward, we returned to his house, the boxes and tasks waiting patiently for us. The afternoon was a blur of unpacking, arranging furniture, and a surprising amount of cleaning. We hung up a large, framed map of the world in his living room, something I remembered he’d always wanted. We worked side by side, our hands occasionally brushing, a spark of electricity passing between us each time. The rhythm was easy and natural, as if we had never stopped.

By mid-afternoon, I pulled out my phone and texted Aditi about bringing dinner over to my new neighbor’s house later.

“Cute?” she asked, a single word that carried a world of meaning.

“Yes,” I typed back quickly, a little surprised by the honesty of my own admission.

“Okay, I’ll bring it by,” she responded, and I knew she’d be full of questions.

We continued working, moving boxes, setting up furniture, and arranging things inside the house, all with a rhythm that felt both productive and strangely comforting. Around 6:30, the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, and Aditi asked what time she should deliver dinner.

“7:15,” I replied.

“Okay, see you then,” she texted back.

I turned to Mike. “Dinner’s coming at 7:15. I say we stop around then so we can both get a shower and get set up. I’ll go home to shower, and you can take one here, and I'll come back afterward for dinner.”

He agreed with a nod. “Sounds like a plan. I’m just about to call it a day anyway.”

I headed home to shower while he took a quick shower at his house. The air of the early evening was cooler now, but still comfortably summer-warm, and I felt refreshed afterward. I put on a simple sundress and tied my hair back, feeling a little self-conscious. This wasn’t a date. It was just two old friends having dinner. Still, I wanted to look nice.

Returning to Mike’s place at seven, we began setting up the kitchen with paper plates and plastic utensils in preparation for Aditi’s arrival. He had a brand new coffee machine, and he made us both a fresh cup. “I’m still working out the kinks,” he said, a note of pride in his voice. “But I think it’s pretty good.”

He was right. It was a perfect cup of coffee, rich and smooth, and as we sipped it, the doorbell rang. Mike and I answered together. He invited Aditi in, and she brought in the bags of food. She gave me a knowing look and a hug, then turned to Mike with a bright smile. “You must be the famous Mike,” she said.

“I don’t know about famous,” he said, laughing. “But I’m Mike. It’s nice to meet you, Aditi. And thank you so much for the dinner.”

I offered her money, but she declined politely, insisting that helping was enough. We thanked her, walked her to the door, and wished her a good night. As she left, she gave me one last glance over her shoulder, a silent promise to get all the details later.

Back at the kitchen table, we served ourselves dinner. Conversation shifted naturally to church. Mike asked which church I attended, and I extended an invitation for him to join me the next day. He accepted readily.

“Sounds good,” he said, smiling. “I was thinking about finding a place to go, but I wasn’t sure where to start. I’d love to join you.”

The rest of the evening was easy, comfortable, filled with small details: the clinking of utensils, the shared enjoyment of food, and the quiet pleasure of being in each other’s company. We laughed, teased, and talked about everything from local events to our shared memories of the past. There was no pretense, no awkwardness, just a sense of returning to a place we had always belonged.

We finished dinner, and Mike took the empty plates to the trash. “You know,” he said, turning to me, “I forgot how good it felt to just… be with you. No pressure. No games. Just us.”

My heart did another of its little flutters. “Yeah,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “Me too.”

As the night drew on, I felt a sense of ease and familiarity, a reminder of the deep connection that had never fully disappeared between us. The house was finally quiet, the boxes a silent testament to a day of hard work. Sydney and Dixon were absent, and that suited the flow of the evening perfectly—just Mike and me, rediscovering our rhythm together, sharing a meal, and talking like we had all the time in the world. As I stood up to excuse myself, Mike reached out and gently took my hand, pulling me just a little closer. He leaned in and kissed me, and the kiss lasted for what felt like hours, though it was only a few minutes—a slow, tender reconnection that spoke of all the years that had passed and the possibility of a future. When I finally pulled away, my heart was racing. "Good night, Mike," I whispered, and then I turned and walked out the door.

 

Wine, cheese and memories

The night carried that lingering summer warmth, the kind that wrapped around me and made the air feel like velvet. It was far too perfect to keep the top up, so I’d driven home with the convertible open, the warm wind teasing through my hair as the cicadas hummed their endless chorus. Even now, parked in my driveway at ten o’clock, I let the engine tick down slowly, reluctant to let go of the moment.

The scent of freshly cut grass clung to the neighborhood, that sharp, green perfume that reminded me of being young, of long evenings when the world felt wide open. I cut the engine, climbed out, and grabbed my work bag, but before I could sling it over my shoulder, I noticed movement next door.

A man—broad-shouldered, steady—was carrying boxes up the walkway of the house beside mine. His shirt clung slightly to his back with the effort, and something about the shape of him made me pause. Attractive, definitely. But there was more to it, something oddly familiar in the way he moved.

I set my bag down on the grass, not even bothering to hide my curiosity, and called out, “Need a hand with those?”

He looked up, and the porch light caught his face. Recognition slammed into me.

“Deppgrl?” he said, voice roughened by surprise.

I blinked. “Mike?”

I couldn’t believe it—my former lover turned boyfriend from the community college we both attended. Two decades had slipped by since those days, but in an instant, it was him. Older, yes, with lines etched into his face and a gravity that hadn’t been there before, but it was still Mike. The one who had once made my pulse race.

“Well,” I managed, a nervous laugh slipping out. “Of all the people in the world…”

He grinned, shaking his head as though he couldn’t believe it either. “Of all the streets in all the towns.”

We stood there for a moment, both rooted to the grass, the air between us buzzing with memory. Then he gestured toward his front door. “Come inside. I’d offer you dinner, but right now I’ve only got wine and cheese. Don’t judge—it’s all I managed to unpack.”

“Wine and cheese sounds perfect,” I said, following him inside.

The place was still bare, boxes stacked along the walls, the faint smell of paint and cardboard lingering in the air. He disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a half-opened wedge of cheese, two mismatched plates, and a bottle of red he worked open with practiced ease.

“Welcome to my glamorous new bachelor pad,” he said, handing me a glass.

I laughed. “I’ve had worse welcomes.” I raised the glass toward his. “To surprises.”

“To surprises,” he echoed, and we clinked gently before sipping.

The wine was warmer than it should have been, the cheese unevenly cut, but none of it mattered. Sitting across from Mike again after twenty years was surreal. His eyes hadn’t changed, that sharp, direct way he looked at me like he was still trying to read my thoughts.

“So,” I said, breaking the silence first, “what’s your story now? Last time I saw you, we were still figuring out majors and cheap beer.”

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah. A lifetime ago. I married young, had a couple of kids. Joined the military, spent more years than I can count being shipped in and out. I’m in the reserves now—less traveling, more stability.” His expression shifted, quiet for a beat. “Separated from my wife. We’re leaning toward divorce.”

I set my glass down softly. “I’m so sorry, Mike.”

He shook his head. “Don’t be. It’s not all bad. The marriage just ran its course. But my kids? They’re incredible and healthy. They’re est part of me, really.” His eyes softened when he said it, and for the first time that night, his grin wasn’t a mask—it was genuine.

I studied him, searching for the traces of the man I once knew. He was still there. Beneath the years, beneath the weight of life, he was still unmistakably Mike.

“What about you?” he asked, nodding toward me. “Where’s life taken you all this time?”

I smiled faintly. “Everywhere and nowhere. Work, travel, burning out, starting over. I’ve had my share of detours. You know me—I never was good at sitting still.”

“That much hasn’t changed,” he said with a grin. “You always had that restless streak. I used to think you’d outrun the whole world if you could.”

“Maybe I tried,” I admitted, laughing softly.

For a while, we traded pieces of the last two decades like puzzle fragments. He told me about the endless blur of deployments, about learning to live out of a duffel bag, about how quickly his kids grew every time he came home. I shared stories of airports and strange cities, of the risks I took, the chances that flamed out, the ones that turned into something real. I never told him about the abortion nor the possibility of who of the four men could’ve been the father.

And when the conversation turned back to the past—our past—it was almost seamless. We laughed over professors we’d both hated, friends who’d vanished into the fog of time, nights we shouldn’t have stayed out so late.

“You remember that old diner?” he asked suddenly, shaking his head with a grin. “We practically lived there. I’m surprised they didn’t name a booth after us.”

“Oh god,” I groaned, laughing. “Don’t remind me. That coffee could have stripped paint.”

“Didn’t stop you from drinking four cups a night.”

I tossed a piece of cheese at him, which he caught easily. “Some things never change.”

The laughter died down, but the warmth lingered, filling the quiet spaces between us. There was an ease here, a familiarity I hadn’t expected.

Eventually, I glanced at the clock and realized how late it had gotten. “I should let you get back to unpacking. You’ve got a long week ahead, I’m guessing.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “But tonight was better than unpacking, trust me.”

I stood, and so did he. For a moment, neither of us moved toward the door. Then, with a quiet smile, he said, “It’s good to see you again, Deppgrl.”

“It’s good to see you too,” I said softly.

The night air was warm as I stepped back outside, the scent of grass still heavy in the breeze. It took me all of thirty seconds to walk across the short stretch of lawn to my stuff still thrown on the grass next to my car to my front door, but everything felt different. My house was the same and the street was the same. But Mike was next door now, after all these years.

Inside, I leaned against the door once it clicked shut and let out a slow breath. I could still hear his laugh in my head, still feel the warmth of his gaze. I hadn’t expected to feel this—this rush, this pull—but it was there. And it left me standing in the dark of my living room, smiling like a secret I wasn’t ready to share.

 

Steadfast

Kay arrived at my house two days before she stepped into the office in my place. I was still in recovery—both physically and emotionally—from the abortion, and each morning felt heavier than the one before. The air inside my home seemed to carry its own silence, pressing against me in ways I hadn’t anticipated. Over coffee, she studied me with the sharpness of a lawyer and the tenderness of a best friend.

“I’ll keep everything running,” she said simply. “You need to focus on healing.”

I managed a weak smile, though my guilt sat heavy in my chest. “Eight to fourteen hours a day is too much, Kay. You can’t carry it all.”

She smirked, but her eyes stayed warm. “You’ve done it for years. I can do it for a few weeks. Tara can’t shoulder this on her own.”

I wanted to push back, to tell her she didn’t need to drown herself in my responsibilities, but the truth was unavoidable: I wasn’t ready to return. My body still ached, and my heart was even slower to mend. So I nodded, surrendering the fight.

Kay set up in my personal office at the company, anchoring the staff with a steadiness that surprised no one but me. Her primary partner was Tara, but the whole team relied on her presence. James and Jimothy orbited naturally toward Tara as she grew more confident, their respect for her becoming clear in every conversation. Kay, Tara, James, and Jimothy reserved the conference room a few times each week to strategize over the Madison account. For those two hours each time, the room hummed with arguments, calculations, and decisions.

One afternoon, Kay tapped her finger against the Madison file as the others sat around the long table. “This account has been stagnant too long. James, numbers first.”

James glanced at his papers. “We’re behind by two weeks. Revenue is stable, but projections need to be finalized.”

“Then finalize them,” Kay said evenly, before turning. “Jimothy?”

He leaned back, speaking with easy confidence. “Clients are nervous, but willing to follow our lead. They just need reassurance we’re ahead of the game.”

Tara leaned forward, her pencil tapping. “I’ve drafted a more aggressive diversification plan. Riskier than what Deppgrl usually signs off on, but it could build trust by showing initiative.”

Kay considered them all, her tone sharpening. “Prepare both plans—the conservative one and Tara’s aggressive model. Nothing goes forward without Deppgrl’s approval. But we need to show clients we’re not standing still.”

James frowned slightly. “Running both tracks will strain deadlines.”

Kay met his gaze without flinching. “Then tighten the schedule. Daily updates, no surprises. Jimothy, summarize the client concerns. Tara, polish your model. James, finish the projections and prepare the executive summary. I want clarity first, then action.”

Jimothy smirked. “Organized chaos. I can live with that.”

Kay’s reply was immediate. “Efficiency isn’t chaos. Stay focused. The clients trust us because we see ahead.”

The work became a rhythm. Reports refined, strategies sharpened, and the Madison account—once stagnant—finally began to move forward. At home, Kay would recount the day, her exhaustion softened by pride. “They’re stronger than they realize,” she told me one night, wine glass in hand. “Tara especially. You’ve built something solid.”

Her words comforted me, but they also stung. “That’s all I ever wanted,” I admitted quietly. “For them to survive without me.”

“You didn’t fail them,” she said. “You survived.”

During those weeks, I kept the office fed with catered meals and quietly made sure bills were paid. Several staff members had been struggling financially, their credit cards stretched thin. I’d covered their payments under the guise of an anonymous donor. “They’ll never know it’s me,” I told Kay one evening, the weight of memory pulling me back to when I had lived paycheck to paycheck.

She only shook her head softly. “You always take care of everyone. Just remember to take care of yourself too.”

A week and a half after sending Tara the email about her promotion, I returned to work full-time. Kay had urged me to name her junior partner, and after watching Tara rise to every demand in my absence, I agreed. My email confirmed it: as soon as I was officially back, she would assume the role. Her reply came within minutes—grateful, humble, and quietly proud.

The familiar hum of printers, the smell of coffee, and the murmur of voices washed over me like something both foreign and dear. Kay had prepared every legal document for Tara’s promotion. Together, Tara and I signed them, her new title marking a turning point for the company. Afterward, Kay hugged me hard and whispered, “You’re back. Time for me to step away.”

That evening, she rolled her suitcases out of my house. I stood in the doorway, reluctant to let go. “You saved me, Kay.”

“Not saved,” she corrected. “I stood where you needed me. You did the hardest work.”

Before long, I spoke privately with Tara about her salary. “Because of the credit card payments and recent raises, it’ll take a little time before I can adjust your pay to match your new role.”

Tara gave a small, cautious smile. “I don’t expect a raise.” But I could see the quiet hope behind her words.

“When I can, I will,” I promised.

Through it all, Vince’s first edition deliveries arrived daily, each book carrying a note folded between the pages. Some were long, others no more than a single line: You are not alone. I read them late at night, running my fingers over his handwriting, torn between gratitude and exhaustion.

And at the very end, when I was ready to close that chapter for good, I gathered every book and every note and boxed them. I returned them to Vince with one final message tucked inside. I thanked him for thinking of me, for caring in his own way, but told him he had pushed me past my limits. Our friendship—and any chance of reconciliation—was over. He had chosen to listen to his priest instead of the woman he claimed to love.

I ended the note with finality: the pressure from both him and his priest had been too much. He needed to take a step back, to reclaim himself. And I reminded him he should get his money back on the books. I had already reached out to the vendors, remembering exactly where we’d first seen them, and they were willing to accept the returns and issue a full refund.

That was the end—not just of the books, but of us.

Carried alone, surrounded by love

That afternoon and into evening, Vince and I didn’t talk much. He understood he had a one-in-four chance of being the father of the fetus, but his Catholic faith weighed heavily on him—the classic Catholic guilt. I tried to tell him that this decision was mine alone, that he wasn’t at fault, but the truth was I couldn’t lift that burden for him. There was nothing I could say to erase the guilt that wrapped around him so tightly.

“Do you want to step out to your parish so you can go for confession?” I asked softly, my voice barely above the hum of the house.

He gave a small nod, almost imperceptible. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

“Good. Go. Clear your conscience,” I said.

He gathered his keys and wallet, lingering for a moment by the door. “I’ll be back in a bit,” he murmured, as if even saying it out loud made it feel real.

I watched him leave before heading upstairs, needing the solitude of a shower to scrub away the tension that had settled on my shoulders. I dressed in something comfortable and finally made my bed, smoothing out the wrinkles with slow, deliberate movements. Coming downstairs, I sent a text to Aditi to see if I could order food.

Don’t bother ordering, she replied almost immediately. I’ll just bring a bunch of food over in about an hour and a half.

You’re a lifesaver, I replied, smiling at my phone.

I headed to the kitchen, pulled out my mixing bowls, and started making homemade brownies—melting the butter and chocolate together, whisking in sugar, eggs, and vanilla, folding in flour until the batter was thick and glossy. The oven filled with the warm scent of chocolate and vanilla as I poured the batter into a pan and slid it in. While the brownies baked, I set out plates, trays, and utensils for dinner. In the basement, I retrieved a $3,500 bottle of wine I’d been saving for a special occasion—Vince, the oenophile, would appreciate it tonight, and I was hoping it would lift his spirits—and slid it into the freezer to chill.

The doorbell rang just as the oven timer was counting down its last minutes.

I opened the door to find Aditi, grinning, juggling four large paper bags.

“Wow,” I said, stepping aside. “You brought a feast.”

She laughed softly. “Of course. You deserve it, shona.”

As she unpacked the food—butter chicken, paneer tikka masala, vegetable biryani, garlic naan, samosas, chickpea curry, and her mother’s homemade cucumber raita—she explained how feeding people was her and her mother’s love language. I smiled, breathing in the mingled aromas of spices and chocolate.

The brownie timer went off while we were both still in the kitchen. I pulled them out, the edges crisp, the center still soft. I slid them onto a platter, cut them up, and covered them with foil.

“Thank you for bringing all this,” I told her. “You didn’t have to do so much.”

She returned the smile and hugged me warmly. “I love feeding you. It makes me happy.”

When she was leaving, I handed her the brownies. Her eyes widened. “Oh! You made these?”

“Just a little something,” I said softly.

“Thank you, shona,” she said, still holding the platter. She waved goodbye and left, the door clicking shut behind her.

The house felt quiet again. The scent of spices and chocolate lingered, but it was the kind of quiet that made my chest ache with anticipation.

Minutes later, Vince’s key turned in the lock. He stepped inside, kicking his shoes off at the door and tossing his keys and wallet onto the stairs. Without a word, he crossed the room and pulled me into his arms. His mouth found mine in a deep, urgent kiss—hungry, searching, full of longing and unspoken confession. His hands gripped my face, then slid into my hair, pulling me closer as his body pressed into mine.

I melted against him, arms circling his neck, my own need answering his. The kiss deepened until I was dizzy, breathless, my chest tightening with something that was part desire, part sorrow. When he finally broke away, his forehead rested against mine, his breath ragged.

“Thank you for suggesting I go,” he murmured. “I needed that. I feel lighter, somehow. But I still…” His voice faltered. “…I still feel so guilty.”

I touched his cheek, sliding my hand down to his chest. “I know. I can’t take that from you. You’re not alone in this, Vince. Not ever.”

He kissed me again, slower but just as charged, the kind of kiss that lingered in the air long after it broke. “I want to forget everything for a moment. I want to just be with you,” he whispered against my mouth.

“Then we’ll be together,” I murmured back, “right here, right now. No guilt. No outside world. Just us.”

Dinner was quiet at first, but Vince’s mood softened as the wine opened up, his appreciation for it showing in the way he lingered over each sip. By the time we were done, conversation and laughter had found their way back between us. We cleaned up side by side, moving easily around each other.

Afterward, we curled up on the couch and put on my favorite World War II movie, produced by Steven Spielberg. Vince held my hand through much of it, his thumb brushing lightly over my knuckles. When the credits rolled, we were both silent, the weight of the evening and everything between us thick in the air.

We went upstairs to bed, stripping completely before sliding into the cool sheets. Vince pulled me close, chest to chest, arms wrapped tight around me.

“I should tell you something,” he said softly, breath warm against my ear. “After confession and my priest telling me to say a million Hail Marys and only six hundred Our Fathers, he also said I need to make an honest woman out of you and marry you.”

I pressed closer against him. “That’s a lot,” I whispered. “You know my answer for that, Vince.”

“I only said half of both on my way back here but will finish the rest another time. I wish you’d marry me but I know the whole thing with Xavier caused severe PTSD.”

“Go home,” I whispered.

“What? Why?” he asked.

“First, your priest telling you to make an honest woman out of me makes me want to be with you less. Second, we don’t say his name in this house. Third, I will be in therapy for the next five eternities to get over that. And finally, marriage is not my thing and you know that!”

“Babe, I am so sorry,” Vince said as he got up.

He dressed, headed downstairs, stopping briefly for his wallet and keys. He opened the door but then closed it again. I heard his keys jangle for a second; I knew he was taking my house key off his key chain. Then he left. The door closing hurt.

Minutes later, I started cramping. I got out of bed, threw the lights on and saw the blood on my favorite sheets. I immediately tossed the sheets into the washer and started the machine. I packed a bag, my license, the prescription bottle of misoprostol and my insurance card. I headed to the ER.

On my way, I called Sarah—yes, that Sarah, Randy’s ex-wife—and asked her to meet me at the hospital. She immediately agreed without asking questions. I could hear Emma and Max shouting in the background that they’d tag along with her, but Sarah immediately shut the kids down and told them: “No, you’re not going. I was invited, not you.”

She met me right at the ER entrance, eyes scanning my face. “What’s going on?”

“I’m pregnant,” I said flatly. “And I’m not sure who the father is.”

Her voice sharpened. “Is Randy possibly the father?”

“Yes. But this was before you two got back together.”

We checked in, and the nurse led me to a private room. Sarah stayed until they wheeled me to a small private suite upstairs. I told her that I wanted her to stay.

The nurse returned mid-morning with the misoprostol in a paper cup. “This will start the process,” she said gently. “We’ll keep you on monitors for at least five hours.”

I swallowed it, chasing it with water. The cramps began slowly but grew sharp and relentless. The hospital kept me another thirty-six hours—it took every one of them to pass the pregnancy.

Sarah stayed the whole time, stepping out only to make calls. When Randy came to the door, Sarah intercepted him in the hallway before he could step inside.

“She doesn’t want to see you,” she told him firmly, blocking the doorway with her body.

He frowned. “Just for a minute—”

“No,” Sarah said, voice like steel. “Turn around and leave.”

She did the same when Dom arrived hours later, a coffee in his hand.

“Can I just—” he began.

“You can leave,” she cut him off. “She doesn’t want to see you either.”

Dom hesitated, then walked away.

When it was finally over, Sarah drove me home. As soon as I stepped through the door, I froze—my house was spotless.

“Dom came over while you were in the hospital,” Sarah said matter-of-factly. “He cleaned the whole place. When he tried to come see you at the hospital, I took your house key from him.”

Upstairs, she helped me into the shower, then into clean clothes, and finally into bed.

“Do you want me to stay?” she asked.

I shook my head. “Thank you for everything. Can I pay you for helping me?”

She waved that off. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Then… could you call Kay for me? Please?”

Sarah nodded, pulled out her phone, and stepped into the hall. I heard her explaining the situation in a low, even voice.

An hour later, Kay came through the door, lugging three suitcases. She came straight to my room. Sarah and I hugged briefly before she left.

Kay set the suitcases down and sat on the edge of the bed. “Sarah told me everything,” she said.

“I knew she would,” I replied. “Not to be mean—she called my bestie because she knew I’d need you.”

Kay nodded. “Normally, I keep at least two of these bags packed with my clothes, multiple passports, and other paperwork just in case you ever need me to travel with you or keep you out of legal trouble. But this time it’s because I’m staying here. I’ve already reached out to Tara about me stepping in for you at work for the next two weeks—or however long it takes until you’re ready to go back.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Thank you, Kay.”

“Always,” she said simply.

Looked doors and secrets kept

Twix and I arrived at the medical center well ahead of my appointment time. The halls were quiet, almost empty. We found an abandoned office nearby and slipped inside, locking the door behind us. I shed my shorts and panties as Twix shed his shorts and boxers simultaneously. We stood partially bare and breathless in the dim room.

Twix grabbed his dick. “Ready?” he asked, his voice low and rough.

I nodded, saying. “Hell yes.”

He lined up and pushed inside me forcefully. A sharp, pleasurable pain shot through me, and I nearly gasped. “God, you’re big,” I whispered.

His hips started pumping steadily, deep and relentless. “You feel so tight,” he growled.

I moaned, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Twix, don’t stop.”

As we were having sex, his hands roamed over my body, returning again and again to my breasts, squeezing and teasing my nipples as he drove deep inside me.

We both climaxed, sweat slick on our skin.

When we were done, we got dressed and walked to the lobby of the office I needed to go to. After checking in with the receptionist, I asked Twix to wait there for me while I was in the exam room.

He nodded. “I’ll be right here.”

A nurse led me to the exam room, took my vitals, and confirmed my pregnancy.

“Are you sure about the abortion?” she asked.

I met her eyes. “Yes, I am.”

She returned with an 8-ounce cup of water and a small paper cup containing the mifepristone pill.

“Take it with the water,” she said. “I need to see that you took the pill.”

I swallowed it and showed her I had done so.

“You can lie down if you want,” she said. “We’ll be back in 35 minutes to check on you. Sometimes, women feel nauseous afterward.”

Before leaving, I asked, “Could you please send Twix back when you return?”

“We will,” she promised. “Twix isn’t his real name, is it?”

“No, it isn’t. Honestly, his friends and I don’t remember his legal name. It’s at the point that his boss calls him Twix,” I explained.

A few minutes later, Twix arrived at the exam room. I stayed seated as he entered, and the nurse left and I took his dick in my mouth.

“Keep going…don’t stop,” he panted. He groaned, thrusting deeper, and murmured my name, his voice rough and urgent. He groaned again, thrusting deeper, his voice rough and urgent. He climaxed several times. When he was done, he got dressed.

Ten minutes after that, the nurse returned to the exam room with the rest of my medication, handing me a prescription bottle of Misoprostol pills labeled with my information and carefully explaining the directions.

“You take both pills within 24 hours to complete the abortion,” she said.

I asked, “When can I have sex again?”

“You can have sex any time between now and when the abortion starts,” she said. “However, you need to wait four to six days after the abortion is complete before resuming sexual activity.”

Twix and I thanked the nurse then headed to his car.

We left the office and hopped into his EV Hummer, heading to my house. We didn’t talk much during the ride, but I asked, “Will you tell your wife about us?”

He shook his head. “I won’t tell Diana.”

“I won’t either,” I said.

We arrived at my house, and Vince was waiting at the door, smiling warmly. Both he and Twix helped usher me inside. Immediately, I noticed the fake floral arrangements scattered throughout the house, a thoughtful nod to my allergy to real flowers.

“Look at these,” I said softly, gesturing to the bouquets. “You remembered.”

“Of course,” Vince replied with a smile.

“Thank you. I really appreciate it,” I said, turning to Twix. “And thank you for driving me.”

Twix gave a small grin. “Anytime. Just wanted to make sure you got to the office and back home safely.”

I nodded, feeling comforted by their presence. The day had been long and intense, but seeing both of them there made me feel grounded, safe, and supported. 

Twix kissed my cheek and left.

Vince and I spent a few moments walking through the house together, Vince pointing out little touches he had arranged for me—the fake flowers, clean spaces, and reminders that he remembered my allergies and preferences. I felt a warm wave of gratitude wash over me.

Burning in the crossfire

In the living room, Vince and I sat on the couch watching the football movie he wanted to watch. He was focused, eyes glued to the screen. Occasionally, he muttered under his breath, reacting to plays or calling out a player’s name.

“Come on, make the pass!” he said quietly, leaning forward.

“You know they can’t hear you, right?” I asked as I chuckled.

“They should be able to,” he said without looking away. “That was wide open.”

“Maybe he thought the other guy had it covered.”

Vince shook his head. “No. That’s hesitation. Costs games.”

“You act like you’re the coach.”

“I’d be better than whoever told him to run that play.”

“It’s just a movie,” I said.

“It’s a football movie,” he corrected.

I smiled faintly and went back to watching him more than the screen.

With about ten minutes left in the movie, I got off the couch to grab the bedding off my bed. I bundled the bedding in my arms, walked into the hall, and threw the entire bundle of bedding down the stairs.

I went into the linen closet located in my bathroom, grabbed fresh bedding, and carried it back to my room. I made my bed. I then headed downstairs and put the bedding into the washer. I also added the washcloth used from aftercare from sex with Vince earlier to the machine and started it.

When I got back to the living room, Vince was asleep. The credits were playing. I sat beside him on the couch and pulled part of the blanket over my lap. I thought about telling him the secret that both Jerry and Twix knew.

Vince stirred and woke up.

“Did I miss the end?” he asked, voice low.

“You passed out during the credits,” I said. “Guess I kept you up past your bedtime.”

He laughed softly. “You really did.”

“We should go upstairs to go to bed,” he said.

“You go ahead,” I told him. “I’m going to grab some water for us before coming up.”

He nodded and went upstairs.

I went to the kitchen, filled two glasses with cold water, and carried them upstairs. Vince was naked and just getting into bed.

I set his water glass on the nightstand on his side of the bed, then walked over to mine and placed my glass down. I took my shirt off and slid into the cool sheets next to Vince.

He wrapped one arm around me and pulled me close to his chest.

“I have an appointment fairly early in the morning,” I said. “Either Jerry or Twix will take me.”

Vince pulled back and rolled me onto my back so we could face each other.

“Why would one of them take you?”

“It’s my appointment,” I said. “And I already asked them both to see if one of them were available to take me.”

“Oh,” he said, and kissed me.

As we kissed, his hands found my tits and squeezed them gently. I moaned. God, they were so tender but I didn’t say a word.

I shifted beneath him, spread my legs, inviting him to sex with me.

He pushed his hard dick into me, moving slowly at first.

“Vince, don’t stop,” I whispered.

“I won’t,” he said against my ear.

The rhythm deepened, his pace quickening.

“Please… keep going,” I breathed.

“Oh, I will,” he said, voice tight. “God, you feel amazing…”

Each movement sent another rush through me, my body trembling as I clung to him. I couldn’t stop climaxing. When he finally slowed, climaxed, and came in me, he eased down beside me, resting his head on my tits. His mouth brushed over my skin, warm and slow, lips teasing, before he nuzzled my nipples, then sucked and bit them gently. I moaned louder.

He paused, pulling back just enough to look into my eyes. “You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

I nodded, heart pounding.

He cupped my tits and squeezed them as he spoke, voice low and rough. “I can feel it. Your body’s already changing.”

“Yeah,” I whispered.

“Who’s the father?” he asked softly, breath teasing my skin.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Between you, Vic, Randy, and Dom, I am not sure who the father is.”

Vince’s expression darkened, pain flashing across his eyes. He tightened his hold on me. “And the appointment? That’s to terminate the pregnancy?”

I nodded again, swallowing hard.

He ran a hand through my hair, voice thick. “I wish you’d talked to me first but I’m here now. Whatever you decide, I’m with you.”

“Thank you,” I whispered. “I appreciate you being here.”

“Jerry and Twix… they found out already?” he asked.

I nodded. “I thought I had a bad stomach bug at first, so when I was feeling better a few days later, I headed to Twix and his wife’s house for dinner. Jerry and his wife were already there. The second I smelled dinner—steak and potatoes—Twix’s wife knew the second I ran into the bathroom.”

Vince’s brow furrowed, his thumb brushing over my nipple. “She noticed immediately?”

“She knocked, asked if I was okay, and there was that look. Later she found me in the kitchen and asked how far along I was. I told her without thinking. She promised she wouldn’t tell, but Twix knew before I left.”

“And Jerry?” he asked.

“That was the next day. He stopped by, and I was still queasy. He said I had that ‘pregnant glow,’ which is a nicer way of saying I looked flushed and exhausted.”

Vince let out a slow breath, the weight of it settling in the room between us. He pressed his forehead to mine for a moment, quiet.

“I’m with you,” he said. “Whatever you decide.”

“Thank you,” I said again, voice small but steady.

He wrapped me tightly into his arms and pulled me tight to his chest, his fingers strumming and squeezing my sensitive nipples. I could feel his hard dick press against my back so I lifted my leg to subtly tell him that I wanted him again.

“You want me again, don’t you?” Vince asked softly.

“Yes,” I said.

Vince pulled away from me, grabbed his fat dick, lined up, and pushed his dick into my sore pussy. I moaned in pleasure.

He thrust in and out of me, squeezing and massaging my big tits, driving me crazy with each movement. We moved through multiple positions — me on my back with him on top, then him flipping me over onto my stomach. When he had me in doggy style, my sensitive tits swayed with every thrust, aching deliciously from the constant movement and his rough hands playing with them. I gasped and moaned uncontrollably as he hammered into me.

“Fuck, you feel so good like this,” Vince groaned, his voice rough.

I clung to the bed frame, biting my lip, every thrust sending waves of pleasure through my body. We came multiple times — bodies trembling and slick with sweat — the air thick with our moans and cries of pleasure.

After we collapsed together, spent and breathless, Vince curled me into his side. We fell asleep. Twenty minutes before my alarm went off, Vince rolled me onto my back, spread my legs, shoved his dick in my now swollen pussy, and rode me until we climaxed again, multiple times. His hands never left my tits — squeezing, pinching, flicking my nipples mercilessly. I screamed and moaned, lost in the endless pleasure.

When we finally pulled apart, we headed to the shower, the hot water pouring over us as we washed away the night.

Vince pressed me against the tile wall, hands sliding down to my ass. He slid a thick finger inside slowly, making me gasp. When I was ready, he pushed his fat dick into my tight ass, the warmth and tightness overwhelming. His hands kept playing with my tits, squeezing and pinching them hard with every thrust. My tits bounced and ached deliciously, making me moan louder as he pounded into me relentlessly.

“Fuck, you’re mine,” he growled.

His hips moved like pistons as he thrust in and out of my ass.

Afterward, we stepped out, dried off, got dressed, and sat down to drink coffee, the quiet comfort of the morning wrapping around us.

Just then, Twix swung by to pick me up for the appointment.

Vince kissed me fiercely, then pinched both of my nipples hard, making me gasp.

“Be careful,” he whispered.

I nodded, took a deep breath, and slipped out the door with Twix.

Shattered and held

He didn’t say anything as I stood, didn’t ask me to stay, didn’t stop me. He just sat there, staring down into his drink like it had the answers he didn’t. That silence—his silence—was all the confirmation I needed.

I left Dom inside the coffee bar.

As I walked out to my car, the late afternoon sun hit me in the face, too bright for how I felt. I fumbled with my keys and my purse, juggling everything as I tried to find my phone, which had inevitably sunk to the very bottom. My fingers brushed pens, receipts, a tube of lip balm I never used, before finally wrapping around the cool, flat rectangle of my phone.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, I called Vince.

“I broke up with Dom,” I said. “I need you to come over.”

“I’m on my way,” he said.

By the time I was parking my car in my unnecessarily large driveway, Vince was already walking up to my front door, shoving his keys into his jeans front pocket. I parked, grabbed my stuff, and met him at the front door.

He greeted me with a kiss on the cheek and took some of the stuff out of my hands.

“I need to be distracted,” I said.

“How do you need to be distracted?” he asked.

“Figure it out,” I said as I unlocked the door.

We entered, and he closed the door behind us. We kicked our shoes off and walked into the kitchen. We plopped my stuff on one of the kitchen table chairs.

Vince turned to me and kissed me. He told me that he was going to distract me by showing me what I deserve inside and outside of bed.

As we made our way to my bedroom, we stripped, and our clothes fell on the floor. When we got to my bed, Vince lifted my fat ass onto the bed and then followed suit as I was getting situated on my back.

He hovered over me and kissed my neck, his hands sliding down my sides, gripping my thighs as he spread them open beneath him. I could feel how hard he was as he pressed between my legs, and I arched into him, needing the contact, needing the weight of him against me.

“You want this?” he asked, his mouth brushing the shell of my ear.

“Yes,” I breathed. “God, yes.”

He didn’t waste time. He pushed into me slow, thick, deep, making me gasp as my legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. His hands braced on either side of my head as he started moving—long, full thrusts that made the bed creak beneath us.

“You feel so good,” he groaned into my neck.

“Harder,” I whispered, digging my nails into his back.

He obeyed, and I met him stroke for stroke, lifting my hips into his thrusts, moaning his name without apology. The tension built fast, sharp, and sweet. I felt my orgasm start to crest, my thighs trembling.

“Don’t stop,” I panted.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his voice rough with restraint.

I came hard, clenching around him, dragging a low, guttural sound from his throat. He cursed, buried himself deeper, and came inside me, his body tensing above mine as he let go.

We stayed like that for a moment, his forehead pressed to mine, both of us catching our breath.

Eventually, he kissed me again, slower this time, his hands still exploring, still wanting.

The second time was slower, more intimate, but no less intense. He started by rolling me onto my side, pulling my leg over his hip. He entered me again and moved with a steady rhythm that let every thrust draw out the pleasure. His lips stayed on mine, or my neck, or my breast, like he couldn’t stop needing to feel me everywhere at once.

“I love having sex with you like this,” he murmured into my skin.

“Then don’t stop,” I whispered.

He didn’t. He made me come again with just the grind of his hips and the weight of his hand on my thigh. I moaned loud, no shame, and he kissed the sound right out of my mouth as he finished again, pulsing deep inside me.

We rested for a bit, tangled in each other’s limbs, sweat cooling on our skin. I ran my fingers through his hair, and he traced lazy circles on my hip.

Then we went for a third round. This one was rougher—more urgent. He bent me over the bed and took me from behind, one hand fisted in my hair, the other gripping my hip. He filled me again and again, his pace relentless.

“Is this what you needed?” he asked, breathless.

“Yes,” I moaned. “Don’t stop. Just like that—please.”

He didn’t stop until we were both shaking, and I felt him spill into me once more with a groan that echoed in my chest.

Afterward, we finally got out of bed, both of us moving slower now. We pulled our clothes back on—me in a tank and shorts, Vince slipping his jeans back on. I padded into the kitchen barefoot, still flushed and warm.

“I’m starving,” I said when he joined me.

“Same. What are you thinking?”

“Aditi’s,” I said without hesitation. “Butter chicken. Garlic naan. You want your usual?”

He nodded, already pulling out his phone. “Extra samosas this time.”

I smiled and tossed him the menu from the drawer even though we both knew it by heart.

We ordered the usual spread: rich, creamy butter chicken with extra sauce to soak up with the garlic naan, Vince’s lamb vindaloo with just enough heat to make his nose run, and plenty of paneer tikka for sharing. I couldn’t decide between jeera and basmati rice, so I asked for both, and Vince threw in extra vegetable samosas like he always did when he was starving. I asked for a mango lassi, and he got a chilled Limca. For dessert, Aditi always included warm gulab jamun because she knew I had a weakness for them.

We ordered enough for two people who had just had multiple rounds of sex and weren’t planning to do much else the rest of the night. He texted our order to Aditi. Knowing my sweet friend, she would add a little bit more food than what was ordered.

We curled up on the couch while we waited, still a little breathless, very satisfied, and not saying much at all. Knowing the food would arrive soon, I got up and poured the both of us red wine. As I was heading back to the couch to rejoin Vince, the doorbell rang. Since he was getting up to get the plates and utensils ready, he said that he’d get the door. On his way, he grabbed his wallet.

“It’s Dom,” Vince said after looking through the peephole. “Want me to say something or do you want to?”

“I will,” I said as I placed the wine glasses down. “Please let me handle this myself.”

Vince nodded in agreement as I opened the door. I knew that he wanted to disagree with me but he knew how much Dom had meant to me when we were together and he still means something even now.

“Dom,” I said, holding my breath. “You smell like cheap whiskey. That shit can destroy your stomach and intestines.”

“DeppGrl, what can I do to get you back?” he asked.

“You can’t,” I said as I sat next to him. “I know that you didn’t mean to hurt me but you did. Women are wired differently than men are.”

“Can we be friends sometime in the future?” he asked.

“I’d like that but I can’t promise t,” I said as I noticed his car parked askew. “I’ll call a friend and his buddy to take you home. I can’t let you leave my house this drunk and expect you to not hurt anyone including yourself.”

“So you still care for me?” he asked hopefully.

“I always will, Dom,” I said as I texted my friend to come get Dom and his car. “However, do not keep your hopes up.”

“Will you ever come by the restaurant again?”

“No, I won’t,” I said as I spotted my friend….glad that he lived down the road from me. “My friend is here. He’ll get you home safely.”

“And my car?”

“Yes,” I said. “Hey, Jerry. Dom, Jerry. Jerry, Dom.”

They both did the “man nod” that showed that they acknowledged each other.

“Where’s Twix?” I asked Jerry.

“He’s on his way,” he said. “He had to go grab his wallet.”

“Ah, cool,” I said. Twix – a dear friend of mine who’s legal name I never knew and the man loved Twix chocolate bars – lived across the street from Jerry. He was known to have a Twix candy bar or five handy most times.

I texted both Jerry and Twix Dom’s address as we saw Twix jogging over.

“Hey, DeppGrl,” Twix said as he hugged me. “This is the dude that has the ancient beater?”

“Yeah,” I said. “He’s always loved that junkyard car more than he loved me!”

Dom was denying that as I told him that I was joking even though I really wasn’t.

“This is a 1964 Ferrari 250 GTO in original candy apple red,” Twix said in awe. “I’ve always wanted to see one in person and now I get to drive one?”

“Be careful with my baby,” Dom said without even thinking. I made a good choice in breaking up with him.

I tossed the keys to Twix and thanked both men for taking care of my former boyfriend. They nodded and helped Dom into Jerry’s four door sedan. I was thankful that I have friends like Jerry and Twix. I loved them dearly and appreciated them both more than they’d ever know. They and their wives were all close friends but no one in the neighborhood knew that they were all swingers. I kept their secret and they kept mine.

I went back inside to find Vince asleep on the couch. Fifteen minutes later, Jerry texted me saying that he and Twix got Dom home safely and they have him wash off that horrid whiskey. I thanked Jerry for taking care of Dom for me.

As I stared out the kitchen window, I saw headlights sweep across the neighbor’s house. I knew it was Aditi so I stepped outside to greet her so Vince wouldn’t wake up. We greeted each other with a hug and she handed over four full bags of food. Before I could ask her why so much food, she said that she knew that Vince and I would need it to keep up our energy. I handed her $300 for the food though I knew it was more than the food was worth. She was grateful. She handed over the food and we waved to each other as she got in her car.

When I got back inside with the food, Vince was awake and ready to have sex again before eating. The second I put the food on the counter, I turned around to kiss Vince. As we were kissing, I slid my shorts and my barely there panties off and Vince slid his shorts and his boxers off. In one swift movement, Vince lifted me up to the counter and gently put me down on the marble countertop. The marble felt cold against my skin as I spread my legs.

Vince entered me again without hesitation, one hand braced against the counter, the other gripping my hip as he rocked into me. His thrusts were slow but powerful, the sound of our bodies echoing in the kitchen. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him close as our mouths collided.

"You never get tired of this, do you?" he asked between kisses.

"Not even a little," I said, breathless.

He groaned, his hips moving faster, deeper. "You feel so damn good."

I clung to him, trembling as my orgasm hit again, sharp and hot. Vince followed moments later, his moan low and rough in my ear as he came inside me for the fourth time that day.

We collapsed against each other, laughing quietly, still tangled. I was still trembling when Vince pulled out. “Wait here,” he said, disappearing upstairs. A moment later, he returned with a warm washcloth, gently wiping me clean. The softness of the fabric against my skin was comforting—an intimate care that made me feel safe and cherished. He threw the wash cloth into the laundry room then helped me off the counter. We pulled out clothes back on, cleaned where we had sex and took dishes and utensils out to serve the food.

“Now,” I whispered, “we eat.”

“Finally,” he grinned, breathless.

We settled back down to devour Aditi’s feast, the scent of spices wrapping us in comfort. Between being in Vince’s arms and eating Aditi’s amazing food, the day was finally turning around.

We ate until we were stuffed. We packed up the rest of the food, poured ourselves more wine and cleaned up the kitchen, putting the food into the fridge. As we headed to the living room, we were contemplating whether or not to watch something on Netflix or not. We agreed that we’d watch a movie of his choice. It was a football movie – which surprised me but I said that I’d watch something of his choice.

After a while, I looked over at Vince, feeling a surge of something tender amid the chaos. I reached for his hand and squeezed it gently.

“Vince,” I said softly, “can you stay the night?”

He looked at me, surprise flickering in his eyes before a slow smile spread across his face. “I was hoping you’d ask.”

And just like that, I felt a little less alone.