Chapter 3: A Growing Flame
Sunday morning spilled through Crystal's apartment in bands of warm gold. The blinds swayed in the lazy breeze, scattering light across the small living room where two mismatched mugs sat one half full of cold cocoa, the other ringed with lipstick.
Crystal stretched, awareness returning in gentle waves. The first thing she saw was Justin, still curled on the couch. His dress shirt was hopelessly wrinkled, one sleeve rolled higher than the other, dark hair adorably wild. He looked nothing like the ruthless tech magnate splashed across business magazines just a man sleeping off an honest, perfect night.
She tiptoed to the kitchen, tugged on an oversized hoodie, and set coffee to brew. A soft smile tugged at her lips; she could still taste last night's kiss and hear the echo of their laughter over garlic and acoustic guitars.
Footsteps. A sleepy yawn.
"Morning," Justin rasped, leaning against the doorway. His voice low, rough, dangerous to the knees did scandalous things to her heart rate.
Crystal passed him a mug. "Survived my vicious couch, I see."
He took a grateful sip. "Ten out of ten hospitality. Five-star crash site."
"You always spend the night on first dates?" she teased.
"Only when the woman feeds me pasta and lets me ruin her playlist with country boy band covers."
She cringed, laughing. "A crime against music… but strangely effective."
Comfortable silence filled the tiny kitchen two people, two mugs, the smell of fresh brew, and the unmistakable glow of something new.
"I've gotta bail soon," Justin said, reluctant. "Board meeting at noon."
Crystal's heart dipped. "Duty calls."
He set his cup down, stepped close, and cupped her face with gentle authority. "Can I kiss you properly before I go?"
Her answer was a whisper against his lips. The kiss slow, thorough felt like a promise engraved on skin. When he pulled back, she was breathless, smiling.
"I'll text you," he vowed.
"I'll be waiting."
Spark to Fire
The following weeks passed in a blur of bright messages and sweeter moments.
Wildflowers on her desk sometimes elegant, sometimes neon-dyed with goofy puns scrawled on the card.
Midnight deliveries of Crystal's "coding survival cookies" to MillerTech's headquarters.
Walks through Central Park with greasy takeout, feeding fries to pushy pigeons.
Deep-night phone calls that started with "You awake?" and ended at 3 a.m. with confessions of childhood fears.
With every encounter, a brick fell from the guarded walls around Crystal's heart. Justin, for all his success, never hid behind entourage or ego. He was present messy, brilliant, utterly real.
One lazy Thursday, sprawled on her couch—her cheek on his chest, legs tangled—he murmured, "You're my favorite part of every day, you know that?"
Crystal cracked one eye. "Do you rehearse these lines in the mirror?"
"Only for you," he said, deadly serious. "And I hope you stick around."
Her humor faded, replaced by nerves. "Justin… what are we? This is fast." Memories of being deemed too much flickered at the edge of her mind.
"Then let's be real together," he said, lifting her hand to his lips. "No slow fading, no pretending. Just us."
After a beat, she let herself believe him. "Okay. Let's be real."
His Place, His Heart
A week later, Justin invited her to his penthouse. Crystal braced for sterile luxurychrome, glass, soulless art. Instead she found hardwood floors, thriving plants, dog eared novels, and a faint citrus and coffee scent that felt startlingly homey.
He cooked—perfect seared salmon, sautéed veggies, seasoned exactly right. Crystal tried not to swoon at a man who could code and sauté.
After dinner, they wrapped themselves in blankets on the balcony. Thousands of city lights glittered like ground-level stars.
"I could stay right here forever," Crystal sighed.
"Then do," he said, voice raw. "Don't go."
She turned, meeting the unguarded intensity in his eyes.
"I'm falling for you, Crystal Gomez."
Breath hitched. Truth for truth. "I'm falling for you too."
His kiss that followed was gentle, reverent an oath sealed beneath the open sky.
The Real First Kiss
Wednesday arrived with garlic shrimp pasta, a terrible ironic love song playlist, and the balcony again. They talked until words ran out, comfortable silence settling like a soft quilt.
"I can't believe how natural this feels," Justin said finally. "Like I've known you in every lifetime."
"It scares me," she admitted. "But it feels right."
He brushed a thumb across her cheek. "Tell me when was your real first kiss? The unforgettable one."
She thought, frowned. "I... haven't had that yet."
"Want to claim it now?"
Her breath tangled. "Yes."
The kiss that followed was slow heat and quiet thunder nothing rushed, nothing held back. Time stilled; the city hummed somewhere far beneath them.
When they parted, she whispered, "That definitely qualifies."
He smiled against her forehead. "Good. Because every kiss after this is going to chase that feeling."
Where They Stood
Later, wrapped in each other's arms, Crystal let the steady drum of Justin's heartbeat lull her. She didn't know where the road led, but she knew this truth:
She was exactly where she wanted to be.
And Justin, gazing at the woman who felt like sunrise, understood one thing with perfect clarity:
She wasn't just a spark. She was the fire that could light his entire world.