Neither of us says anything for a moment. The silence stretches, but not in a bad way. Like we’re both listening to something invisible.
Finally, he glances at me. “Okay,” he says, softly. “I should go.”
I nod, but I don’t move. “Yeah. Of course.”
But I don’t want him to. I want him to stay. To sit back down, to hold my hand across the table again, to say that it’s too early to leave something this good.
He rubs the back of his neck, looking suddenly unsure of himself. “Unless…you need help with anything else? Graphics? Planning your groceries for the week? A coffee refill?”
I laugh under my breath. “I think I’ve got it covered.”
He nods again, slower this time. “Right. Okay.”
He turns the knob, cracks the door just a few inches but doesn’t step through. His shoulders rise with a breath he doesn’t fully release, then he glances over at me with a lopsided smile.
“I’m really glad I came,” he says.
My voice comes out softer than I intended. “Me too.”
He takes a small step forward, then stops again. Hishand brushes mine, just barely. “You make it really hard to leave, Ivy.”
My heart thuds once, hard and fast.
He leans in like he’s about to kiss me. Just a little. Just enough for me to feel the possibility crackling between us.
Then he pauses, grin tilting crooked. “You know…I think I’m going to cash in on those kisses you owe me.”
Before I can breathe, his hand slides gently to the side of my face, thumb brushing my cheek, and his lips find mine. Once. Twice. Slow, lingering, like he’s memorizing the shape of me.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, his breath unsteady. “Dangerous,” he whispers, voice low and rough. “You make it way too hard to walk away.”
My heart trips over itself. “Then don’t.”
He laughs under his breath, pulling back reluctantly. “I really do have to go before I’m late to rehearsal.”
I pout, half teasing, half very real. “Fine. Go be responsible.”
He glances back at me, that grin still tugging his mouth. “Don’t worry. I’ll make it up to you next time. Double the payment. Maybe triple.”
I swallow, somehow managing to smile. “Have a good day, Gray.”
He exhales through a grin, backing out the door. “’You too, girlfriend.”
And just like that, he’s gone.
I lock the door and lean my back against it, staring at the spot where he stood just moments ago. My apartment is still filled with the warmth he left behind—the smell of his cologne lingering in the air, the half-full mug on the table, the silence that somehow hums with his absence.
I let out a slow breath, my hand drifting to my lips like I need to remind myself not to grin too hard.
He brought flowers. Wrapped in brown paper, a messy little note scrawled in his handwriting. I will cherish this moment forever.
I’d never seen a bouquet of pink flowers look so beautiful. So personal. I put them in a vase while I waited for our coffee to brew, and slipped his note on my desk, they look stunning on my kitchen counter.
I tuck my legs underneath me and open my laptop, scooting it closer until the soft glow of the screen lights up my face. My next project deadline is looming, and I want to give the final files one more look before I send them off.
The logo sits bold at the top of the page: a fresh, modern design for a local coffee shop. I hover the cursor over the image I chose—a soft palette of sage green and cream, paired with a hand-drawn illustration of a steaming mug. It isn’t flashy. But it feels warm and inviting.
I click through the rest of the mockups: menus, social media templates, even a quirky little loyalty card with tiny coffee beans to stamp. It’s clean. Polished. Professional.
