Page 13 of Veil of the Past
She grins, her green eyes sparkling despite the exhaustion. “You know, Romiro, you’re the only person who knows my cravings better than I do.” She takes the bag and the cup, and our fingers brush briefly. Her touch sends a small spark through me, but I keep my cool.
"Just doing my part," I say with a shrug, but there’s a smile tugging at my lips. “And, I’m pretty sure that iced mocha is the only thing keeping you standing right now.”
She takes a sip, closing her eyes with a satisfied sigh. "You might be right about that." She opens her eyes, looking up at me with a playful grin. “What would I do without you, huh?”
I laugh. "Crash and burn, probably."
She laughs, a soft, tired sound, but it’s genuine. I open the car door for her, and she slides in, her movements slow and weary. I get in on the driver’s side, and we pull out of the garage. The streets are mostly empty, a few cars passing by, the city still wrapped in an early-morning haze.
We fall into that easy rhythm we always do, like slipping into an old, familiar song. She starts by telling me about a patient, some old guy who came in complaining about his heart but wouldn’t stop flirting with the nurses. She rolls her eyes, mimicking his gravelly voice with dramatic flair; “Darlin’, I’m not sure if it’s the heart or if it’s just you making it race.” I chuckle, and she grins, pleased with herself for getting a laugh out of me.
I lean into the moment, telling her about my night, about this guy I saw outside one of our clubs who was trying to impress his date by doing some ridiculous dance move that ended with him flat on his ass. I give a reenactment in my seat, waving my arms around, my voice going up a few octaves, and she laughs. Ffuck. That’s the only sound I’d chase to the ends of the earth. Her laugh is lightand musical, like the way the sun spills through the window blinds in the morning, making the room feel alive.
She shakes her head at me, her eyes bright. “You really are the worst driver in the city, Romiro,” she teases, glancing over with a smirk. “I swear, you’ve got a personal vendetta against every stop sign.”
I put on my best mock-offended face, hand over my heart. “Hey, I stop … sometimes,” I say, grinning back. “Besides, it’s called defensive driving. Keeps things interesting.”
She rolls her eyes, but I see the smile she’s trying to hide. “Oh, right. ‘Defensive.’ That’s what we’re calling it now?” Her tone is light and playful, and I feel the warmth in my chest spread.
“Sure,” I reply, leaning closer. “I’m just defending against boredom, which is a serious danger on these streets.”
She laughs again, her head falling back against the seat, and for a second, the tired lines on her face soften. I take in the way her eyes crinkle at the corners, the way her mouth curves upward in a way that seems to light up the darkened car. Her laughter is like a balm, and I drink it in, every note, every breath, because there’s something pure and unguarded in it, something that makes all the heavy things in my life feel light, if only for a heartbeat.
And I realize then I’d tell a thousand more stupid stories, make a hundred more jokes, just to keep her smiling like this. I don’t care if I look stupid as long as she keeps looking at me like that.
But after a while, the conversation fades, and a comfortable silence settles between us. It’s the kind of silence you only find with someone you’re truly at ease with, the kind where you don’t have to fill every gap with words.
I glance over at her. She’s leaning back against the seat, her eyes fluttering shut, her head tilted to the side. Her hair, that fiery red, has come loose from its bun, a few strands falling across her face. She looks peaceful, like she’s finally found a moment of rest.
Without thinking, I reach over and gently brush the hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. My fingers linger for just a second longer than they should, feeling the softness of her hair, the warmth of her skin.
She doesn’t stir, just breathes softly, her chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. I can’t help but smile. She’s exhausted, but she’s here. And for a moment, just a moment, I let myself think that maybe, just maybe, this could be something more.
I keep my hand on the wheel, my eyes flicking back to the road, and drive the rest of the way in silence. A comfortable, perfect silence.
5
ALESSIA
Romiro slows his car to a stop outside my apartment building. It’s dark outside, the sun still hiding. I turn to look at him, and take in his sharp jaw and the small scar that runs from the top of his cupid’s bow to the corner of his mouth. I try not to let my eyes linger on his lips, so I decide to ask, “Want to come up for a nightcap?”
He gives me his signature smirk before replying, “You know I’d never say no to alcohol.” Rom pushes his door open, and before I can even reach over to open my door, he swings it open and says, “Slow and steady doesn’t always win the race, Red.”
“You would know, wouldn’t you,” I retort, laughing at the way his smug smirk drops from his face. He mutters something under his breath, something I can’t quite hear. “Did you say something?” I ask, leaning in close to him in a mocking manner.
He leans in, his lips brushing over the shell of my ear, his voice a low murmur that sends a shiver down my spine. “I was just thinking”—he pauses, his breath tickling my skin—“if you want a demonstration, all you have to do is ask.”
I pull back just enough to meet his gaze, arching a brow. “Overconfident, aren’t you?” I say, feigning nonchalant even as my pulse quickens.
His smirk returns, slow and deliberate. “Is it overconfidence if I’ve never been wrong?”
Sucking in a breath, I try to brush off his words, but there’s a dangerous flame licking at me, heating the spaces where his voice has settled. My heart hammers, and despite myself, I feel the undeniable pull, the way his eyes trace over me like he’s memorizing every reaction. My skin tingles where his breath had brushed against it, a ghost of warmth that lingers, demanding to be felt again. The elevator doors close, and it starts ascending toward my apartment.
I swallow, forcing myself to smirk, to play along even as my pulse betrays me. “You think you’re that irresistible, huh?” The words sound steady, teasingalmost, if it weren’t for the way my voice dipsfor the breath I can’t quite catch.
He doesn’t break eye contact, the corners of his mouth lifting just slightly, like he can see through every attempt I make to hold back. His hand moves, fingers brushing my wrist in a touch so fleeting it could almost be accidental.Almost. I feel my resolve slip just a bit more. But the elevator doors snap open onto my floor, and he moves back, slower than he should’ve. His touch lingering, his heat searing itself into my skin.
I quickly open my apartment door and drop the keys into the paw-shaped key holder. Mr. Marvin loops himself around my legs as he purrs. Romiro bends down to my cat’s level and pets him. “Hey there.” Rom scratches behind his ear before picking him up and walking into my space.
