She glares at me. “You’re holding me hostage in your mystery lair.”
“It’s a one-bedroom flat, not a dungeon.” I argue.
She squints at the ceiling. “Debatable.”
I shake my head and turn toward the kitchen. “You’re the most ungrateful guest I’ve ever had.”
She blinks. “Wait—ever?”
I pull two mugs from the cabinet, my back to her. “You’re the only guest I’ve ever had.”
Silence. When I glance over my shoulder, she’s watching me—eyebrows lifted, a soft sort of shock in her eyes.
“Seriously?” she asks, voice quieter.
I nod, pouring coffee.
“No one’s been here before?”
“No.”
“Why?”
I carry the mugs back to the living room and hand her one. She accepts it, still staring at me like I’ve said something scandalous. “This place was never meant to be shared,” I say finally, settling on the opposite end of the couch. “It’s the only space in my life I’ve kept untouched.”
“Untouched by what?”
“Noise. People. The weight of pretending.”
Her gaze softens just a little. “And now?”
I glance at her. Her hair’s falling loose again. The mug is too big in her hands. She doesn’t realize she’s tapping her fingers against the ceramic. “Now I have you stealing all my T-shirts and putting throw pillows where they don’t belong,” I say dryly.
She snorts. “Please. Your couch was dying for color.”
“I liked it the way it was.”
“Well, it likes me better.”
I shake my head, but the corner of my mouth twitches. She notices. It’s weird that she has suddenly brought color to my almost lifeless house, and it’s not good for my heart because in years, for the first time, I feel warm.
Then her voice dips, teasing. “So... what does that make me? The glitch in your system?”
“No,” I say without thinking. “You’re the exception in my code.”
Her breath catches. Just slightly. And something shifts in her face. Barely. A blink slower. A smile tugging before she hides it behind her coffee cup.
“Smooth,” she mutters.
“I wasn’t trying to be.”
“Exactly why it worked.”
She lets her head fall against the back of the couch, closing her eyes for a second. “You know, I should be annoyed. I should hate being cooped up. But somehow you’ve turned this hostage situation into the most oddly comforting 48 hours of my month.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Oddly comforting” is not the review I was hoping for.
“Don’t push your luck.”
