Lizzy pov
The question doesn't feel like a question.
It feels like a line being drawn.
Did you tell him about us?
My breath catches, not because I don't understand what he means, but because i understand all too well.
Us.
The word settles somewhere deep in my chest, heavy and warm and completely out of place, and the worst part is how easily my mind accepts it. Like it's something that's been waiting there, unnamed, just beneath the surface.
There isn't an us.
There can't be.
But standing this close to him, with his voice still low and meant only for me, it doesn't feel impossible.
It feels… dangerously close to real.
I swallow, my fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the counter as I force myself to answer.
"No," I say quietly.
The truth comes easier than it should.
"I didn't tell him anything."
I don't add that I didn't even think to.
That there wasn't a single moment that night where Daniel crossed my mind.
That even now, standing here with another man close enough to touch, I don't feel the kind of guilt I'm supposed to feel.
That part sits heavier.
Not because of what I did.
But because of what I want.
Because what I want is standing right in front of me, looking at me like I matter in a way I haven't felt in years.
And I hate how much that gets to me.
"He didn't ask," I add after a moment, softer now, like I need to explain something. "He doesn't… really ask about things like that. About my life."
Wade doesn't respond immediately. He just watches me. And there's something in the way he does it that makes my chest tighten, like he's already figured out more than I've said out loud.
Like he sees the gap I've been trying not to look at.
The space Daniel leaves behind.
The one he just stepped into without even trying.
I shift slightly, suddenly aware of how close we're standing again, how easy it would be to close the distance completely.
To reach for him. To touch him. And I'm almost certain he would let me.
That's the problem, isn't it. Everything with him feels easy.
Talking.
Laughing.
Wanting.
There's no effort, no careful navigation, no waiting for scraps of attention or trying to hold onto moments that disappear the second the weekend ends.
He's just… here.
Present.
Looking at me like I'm something worth his time.
And God help me, I want more of it.
That's where the guilt comes in.
Not sharp. Not immediate.
But slow and creeping, settling under my skin as I realise how quickly I've leaned into this, how little resistance I've actually offered.
Because this—this feeling, this pull—it could take everything if I let it.
And I know I can't.
I have a whole life outside of this bubble he creates.
A real one.
Two boys who need stability.
A home that depends on the version of me that doesn't get swept up in things like this.
Daniel might be distant, might forget things that matter, might leave me carrying more than I should…
…but he's still the foundation of everything I've built.
And this, whatever this is
doesn't fit into that world.
I lift my gaze back to Wade's, holding it this time instead of looking away.
"There isn't an us," I say, more steadily now, even if my chest tightens as I say it.
"We can never exist outside of this bubble."
It sounds like a boundary.
It should feel like one.
But it doesn't land that way between us.
Not with the way he's still looking at me.
Not with the way I'm still standing here instead of stepping back.
Not with the way my body refuses to match the words coming out of my mouth.
Because if I really meant it—
I would have already created distance.
I would have told him to go.
I would have ended this the moment he walked through the door.
But I didn't. And we both know it.
The silence stretches, thick and charged, and I feel it settle into something that neither of us is willing to name yet.
"I have to go fetch the boys," I say finally, but even that feels like a delay rather than an ending.
Because I don't move even an inch
And a part of me, the part I don't quite recognize right now, wishes I didn't have to go at all.
"I should go," I say, finally forcing the words out, even though they feel reluctant, like they don't quite belong to me.
Wade watches me for a second, his expression unreadable, before he straightens slightly and reaches for his jacket.
"I'll walk you out."
It isn't a question.
And for a moment, I consider saying no, drawing a line, creating that distance, reminding both of us where this needs to end.
"Okay," I say instead.
The walk to the car is quiet, but not uncomfortable. There's something steady about his presence beside me, something grounding in a way I'm not used to, like I don't have to fill the silence just to keep it from turning into something awkward.
The afternoon air feels cooler than it should.
Or maybe that's just me.
I can feel him there, just slightly behind me as we reach the car, and when he steps forward to open the door before I can, I pause.
Surprised.
No one does that anymore.
Not for me.
"Thank you," I say softly, glancing up at him, meaning more than just the door. "For the coffee machine… and everything else."
His mouth curves into that easy, quiet smile I'm already starting to recognize.
"Anytime."
I shift slightly, my gaze drifting past him.
To the sleek, dark, powerful bike.
It's suits him.
"Please be safe," I say without thinking, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
There's a beat.
Something shifts in his expression—subtle, but there.
Like I've said something that landed deeper than I intended.
"Yeah," he says after a moment, quieter now. "You too."
He closes the door gently, and I sit there for a second longer than I should, my hands resting on the wheel, my chest tight in a way I don't quite understand.
Then I start the car.
And drive away.