The ride home was quiet—too quiet. The kind of silence that pressed against your chest until breathing felt like work. I wasn't sure how I'd even ended up in the car; one second, Val had pulled up outside the office, and the next, I was sitting beside her, hands motionless on my knees, watching the city lights blur by through the window.

She didn't say a word. Neither did I. The air between us felt heavy, thick with everything that hadn't been said in the office. I opened my mouth once—twice—but the words stuck, dissolving before I could even form them. What could I possibly say? "It's not what it looked like"? Even I hated how hollow that sounded in my head.

By the time we pulled up to the house, my nerves were a knot in my stomach. We stepped inside and I couldn't take it anymore.

"Val…" My voice came out softer than I meant. "I—"

She stopped mid-step and turned to face me.

Her eyes were calm, unreadable. No anger, no sadness—just a steady look that made me feel like I was standing under a microscope. I tried to hold her gaze, but it was like staring into a mirror that reflected every mistake I'd ever made.

"I didn't know she'd… bring food," I said finally. It sounded weak even to my own ears.

Val blinked once. "Okay," she said simply. "Anything else?"

That one stung more than if she'd yelled.

"I… Val."

"Mm?" she murmured, like I'd interrupted a thought that wasn't about me.

"Don't do this," I said quietly.

She tilted her head, still calm. "Do what exactly?"

"This," I gestured helplessly. "You're not saying what you actually feel. You're just... I really don't have anything to do with her. I promise."

Val's expression didn't change. If anything, she looked like she was trying to decide whether to believe me—or if it even mattered.

"Still," she said after a moment, "she cooked for you." A pause. "Is this the first time, or…?"

I cut in quickly. "She's never done that before."

"So," she said, her voice flat but even, "it's the first."

I swallowed. "Val, you can ask literally anyone at my workplace. You can even ask Derrick. I really don't have anything going on with her. I wouldn't—"

She gave a small nod, like she'd heard enough. "I feel sleepy."

"Val…" I said her name again, quietly this time, hoping it would be enough to stop her from walking away.

But she turned anyway, moving toward the hallway. "Oh," she said over her shoulder, almost as an afterthought. "If you're hungry, there's food in the pot."

She paused, like there was something else she wanted to add, but didn't. Then she turned again and walked into the room, closing the door behind her.

I stood there for a long time, staring at the closed door. It wasn't loud, the way it shut—just a soft, final click—but somehow, it felt like more than wood and hinges separating us.

It felt like she'd closed something deeper. Something I wasn't sure how to open.

---

Dinner—or what counted as it—felt like punishment.

I ate in silence, forcing down a few bites because not eating would've made things worse. It wasn't even about hunger anymore; it was about principle. About the tiny, unspoken message it would send if I didn't touch her food. Val didn't say it, but I knew her well enough to understand what every gesture meant.

So, I ate. Slowly. Mechanically. The rice had long gone cold, but it didn't matter. Every mouthful tasted like guilt.

When I was done, I cleaned up, turned off the lights in the living room, and stood for a long moment outside the bedroom door. The faint glow from under it was gone—she'd turned off the lights too. I exhaled, pushed the door open gently, and found her lying on her side, facing away from me.

She looked peaceful. Too peaceful.

I wanted to believe she was asleep, but I knew better. Val wasn't the type to drift off when her mind was restless. And I could practically feel it from across the room—the quiet storm in her head, all the questions, all the doubt.

I stripped, took a quick shower, and returned. The bed dipped slightly as I lay down beside her. Her breathing stayed even, but I caught the tiniest shift in her shoulders—the kind you only notice when you know someone's every habit, every tell.

She wasn't asleep. Not even close.

For a moment, I thought about leaving it alone. Maybe morning would make things better. But no—if our roles were reversed, I'd be doing the same thing she was doing right now: overthinking every second of what I'd seen. And the last thing I wanted was for her to lie there believing even for a second that she wasn't enough.

So, I reached out, tapping her shoulder gently.

"Val," I said quietly. "I know you can hear me."

Nothing. Not even a twitch.

"You don't have to say anything," I continued softly. "Just… listen, okay?"

Still nothing. No sound, no movement. But I kept talking anyway—because stopping now would make it worse, and saying nothing wasn't an option.

"Tasha's always been a great help since I joined the company," I began. "Always made sure I understood what needed to be done, that I wasn't left behind. She's good at her job, and I thought that was all it was. Just her being a team leader. Or maybe she's just… nice."

I stopped, realizing how defensive that sounded. How pointless.

"I guess," I said, quieter now, "I started noticing things after a while. Little things. The extra attention. The way she'd come over to check my work even when there wasn't anything to fix. I didn't think much of it at first. But after my first month, I realized it wasn't just me imagining it."

My voice grew tighter as I kept talking.

"She… looked me up once," I admitted. "Checked my profile... to see if I was actually married. Then she started texting, but always in this weird middle ground—formal, but not really formal. Not enough to cross a line, but enough that you knew what she was hinting at."

I groaned softly, rubbing a hand over my face. "What am I even saying?"

She didn't respond. Not a word. Her eyes opened quietly, but with her back turned to me, I couldn't see. So I just kept talking.

I let out a slow breath. "I'm not going to sit here and act like I didn't notice. I know she likes me. I just realized it too late. But the moment I did, I made sure she understood that my heart already belongs to someone else. To you, Val."

My throat tightened a little at her name.

I thought about mentioning that one time she came over — the whole awkward mess that followed, even Trent showing up because I didn't want to be alone with her. But no. That would only make things sound worse.

So I just said, "I started keeping my distance—never lingered, never texted back unless it was about work. I did everything I could to make it obvious. But she just… kept finding ways to stay close."

I swallowed again, my voice dropping lower. "I promise, I had no idea she'd cook for me. I didn't expect it, and I swear to you, Val, there's nothing going on. There never will be."

For a few seconds, there was only silence. Then, slowly, she turned to face me.

Her eyes were open now, soft and glimmering in the faint light that slipped through the curtains. She stared at me quietly, studying my face like she was searching for cracks in the truth.

Then she asked, so softly it almost broke me, "Promise?"

I nodded without hesitation. "I promise."

She stared for another heartbeat, her gaze dropping for a moment before she looked back up at me again—this time, her eyes were gentler. "I want to cuddle," she murmured.

The way she said it—no teasing, no smugness—just warmth.

I didn't need to be told twice. I moved closer, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her against me. Her body fit perfectly against mine, her warmth melting away the ache that had been sitting in my chest all evening.

We stayed like that for a while—no words, no explanations, no more uncertainty. Just the quiet rhythm of her breathing against my chest, syncing slowly with mine.

After a few minutes, I felt her body relax completely. I pulled back slightly to look at her. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted slightly in the kind of sleep that only comes when you've finally decided to let go.

I stared at her face—at the faint lines of exhaustion that the light brushed over, at the softness that made my heart ache in the best way—and I smiled.

Leaning in, I pressed a light kiss to her forehead.

"I'm never letting anything come between us," I whispered, mostly to myself.

She didn't respond, already lost to sleep.

I closed my eyes too, feeling the last of the tension drain from my body.

And for the first time that day, the silence didn't feel heavy. It felt safe.

Because she was here.

And I wasn't letting her go.

---

To be continued...

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