Page 5 of They Are Mine

She’s about Noah’s age. Maybe a little older.

Maybe.

Dark hair, thrown up in a ponytail, strands frizzing in the humidity. No makeup. Bare face, plain. Dressed in leggings and an oversized hoodie, shapeless, like she doesn’t care how she looks. Like she doesn’t understand that women are supposed to try.

She carries a bag of groceries, keys looped lazily around her finger, and nudges his arm like she has the right to touch him.

I clench my jaw.

Don’t touch him.

My nails dig into my palm, but I force myself to stay still, to stay quiet.

Noah smiles.

I stop breathing.

But it’s not the same.

Not bright and dizzy like it was with me.

Not rosy-cheeked and breathless, like he couldn’t believe his luck.

Just… polite.

Nothing more.

I relax, exhaling through my nose, my grip on the steering wheel loosening.

She’s nothing.

He doesn’t look at her the way he looked at me.

He doesn’t linger.

There’s no hesitation, no spark, no pull in his body that I can see.

Just a small wave. Just an easy dismissal as he turns away, heading toward his apartment.

I allow myself a small smile.

I was being silly.

She’s no one.

My fingers curl around the door handle before I even think about it.

He’s in there now. Right now.

Maybe watching TV, maybe cooking, maybe stretching again, that sweater riding up just enough for me to…

I swallow hard, pressing my back against the seat. Not yet.

I have to be patient.

I have to do this right.

Instead, I take out my notebook, flipping to a fresh page.

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