Chapter Nine — His City
She packed on a Thursday night.
Not because she had to — it was just a weekend trip, and she could have thrown everything together in twenty minutes on Friday morning, barely awake. But she chose to pack on Thursday night because she needed something to keep her hands busy and her mind occupied, especially with that low, buzzing anticipation that had been lingering ever since Daniel drove away on Tuesday morning, leaving her apartment feeling eerily quiet.
Standing in front of her open wardrobe, she debated over the green dress. Yes? No? Yes again.
She reminded herself that this was just a weekend.
She had been in other people's spaces before. She had seen them in their own environments — the versions of themselves that existed outside the little bubble she had known. She was capable. She was a grown woman with a social life and a solid sense of who she was.
She pulled out the green dress, then put it back, made a cup of tea she didn't end up drinking, and lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
She was heading to his city.
She was going to visit the bookshop he frequented every Saturday, the coffee shop where he tackled tough work, and the office building that had his name on the plaque at the door. She would sleep in his apartment, gaze out his kitchen window, and meet whatever version of his everyday life existed before Crestview.
This was different from everything that had come before.
This was the complete picture.
She wanted it.
But she was also — and she was honest with herself about this in the dim light of her Crestview bedroom — a little scared of it.
Both feelings were true.
She set her alarm for seven.
She showed up right at four in the afternoon. His city revealed itself slowly — the hustle and bustle intensifying, buildings reaching for the sky, the highway transforming into lively city streets filled with traffic lights, pedestrians, and that unique buzz of a place that was alive and unapologetic about it. She followed the directions to his place. A Victorian terrace. Dark brick. Window boxes that someone clearly cared for. She parked, took a moment to breathe, then stepped out, grabbed her bag, and rang the buzzer.
His voice came through the intercom: "Second floor." By the time she reached the landing, he was already at his apartment door. He looked at her for a beat — that full, attentive gaze that took her in completely after any time apart. "Hi," she greeted him. "Hi." He reached out, took her bag off her shoulder, and his other hand briefly touched her face — just his warm palm against her cheek, a moment of being truly seen after days apart. Then he stepped back and let her in.
His apartment was nothing like she had pictured, yet it felt exactly like him at the same time. Bookshelves lined one entire wall, stretching from floor to ceiling. A desk by the window showed signs of heavy use — legal pads piled up, pens neatly arranged, a lamp positioned just right. The dark wooden floors were smooth in the spots where people walked the most. The kitchen was larger than hers, and the couch looked deep and serious about its purpose.
She immediately made her way to the bookshelf. There, she spotted a framed photograph. Two boys — one older, one younger, the younger one caught in a moment of laughter at something just out of view. She picked it up. "Owen," Daniel called from the kitchen doorway. "I thought so," she replied softly, holding the photograph with care before placing it back where it belonged. Then she walked over to the kitchen, stood beside him, and asked, "What are you making?"