The weekend should have been a relief. Two whole days without Daniel Hayes and his infuriating smirks. Two days to breathe, to reset, to convince herself that the flutter in her stomach was nothing more than exhaustion.
But Saturday morning, Amara's phone buzzed with a message that shattered that plan.
Daniel: Thompson wants revisions by Monday. Can we meet today?
Amara stared at the screen, torn between irritation and something dangerously close to anticipation. He could've emailed. He didn't need to text her. But still…
She typed back quickly. Fine. My place or yours?
The reply came instantly. Yours. I'll bring coffee.
Her heart skipped. Bad idea, she told herself. Very bad. But by the time she finished cleaning her living room and putting on a simple blouse that—hopefully—didn't look like she'd chosen it just for him, it was too late to back out.
When the knock came, she opened the door to find him holding two cups and a mischievous grin. "Black with two sugars, right?"
She blinked. "How do you know that?"
"I pay attention," he said smoothly, stepping inside like he belonged there.
The afternoon started innocently enough. Papers spread across her coffee table, laptops open, Daniel occasionally teasing her about her neat stacks of notes versus his chaotic scribbles. But the longer they worked, the more comfortable it felt. Too comfortable.
At one point, she laughed at something he said—really laughed, the kind that bubbled out before she could stop it. The sound startled her almost as much as the way he looked at her when she did. Like he wanted to memorize it.
The warmth of it lingered long after her smile faded.
By evening, the work was done, but Daniel made no move to leave. Instead, he leaned back against her couch, stretching out with that lazy confidence that drove her insane.
"You know," he said casually, "you're not nearly as scary outside the office."
She raised a brow. "Scary?"
He smirked. "Intimidating. Untouchable. Like nothing could rattle you."
"And you're saying I'm… rattled now?"
His gaze held hers, steady and unflinching. "I'm saying you're real. And I like real."
Her throat tightened. She should've brushed it off, should've thrown back a sarcastic remark. But instead, the silence stretched, and in it, she felt every beat of her heart, every inch of space between them shrink.
Daniel shifted closer, his arm brushing hers. Her breath hitched, and for a moment—just a moment—she let herself imagine what it would be like if he closed the distance.
The sound of rain tapping against the window broke the spell.
Amara shot to her feet, flustered. "You should go. It's late."
Daniel rose slowly, his eyes never leaving her face. "Amara —"
"Don't," she whispered. "Please."
He studied her, and for once, there was no teasing in his expression. Only quiet sincerity. "I'll go. But you should know… I'm not going to pretend this isn't happening."
Her chest ached as she walked him to the door. When it closed behind him, she leaned against it, trembling.
Because she knew he was right.
Something was happening.
And every crack in the wall she'd built around her heart was spreading, faster than she could patch it back together.
⸻