Page 70 of Kisses and Paperclips

Even sweetness has a shelf life.

Julien had wanted this. Wanted me.

And I’d kept the door cracked just enough for him to see the light, but never wide enough to step through.

Now, with the weight of his jacket still wrapped around my shoulders and the ghost of his warmth lingering on my skin, I felt it—that shift. Subtle. Final.

Not rejection. Just… resignation.

He’d stopped waiting.

And now that I was finally ready, it felt like I was reaching for something that had already moved on.

“I think…” I started, voice softer than I meant for it to be, “I let the taste of me go bitter in his mouth.”

There was a beat of silence, and then Mika, always the bold one, leaned in close. Her voice was honey-laced steel. “Well… remind him how sweet you can taste.”

Her words landed like an invitation.

I wanted to stop hiding behind work, pride, and fear and finally step toward what I wanted with both hands open.

And God, I wanted him.

“You better go get your man before somebody else does,” Mika murmured, not looking up as she sipped from her glass.

Nia let out a low hum, amused. “Yeah… because I might.”

I gave her a slow side-eye and tapped her arm. Enough to get the idea across, but not to really hurt. She smirked. Message received.

I turned back toward him.

He was still at the table across the room, the seats around him were no longer full. The energy had shifted. People cleared space when a man like that leaned back and made it look like a throne.

Then I saw her.

The model from earlier, still wearing our Diamonds Are Forever piece like it had been stitched onto her.

She moved like she knew how to be seen.

And right now, she was headed straight for the open seat beside him.

Her gaze slid over to me as she passed.

Deliberate. Measured. The kind of look women give when they’re used to winning.

I didn’t look away. Just arched a brow and finished my drink.

Let her have her walk.

Let her try.

Because I wasn’t chasing. But I wasn’t folding, either.

I stood, adjusted the hem of my dress, and took my time crossing the room.

Not to compete.

To remind everyone, including him, who the hell I was.

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