Page 7 of Let it Burn
Lena doesn’t speak. She doesn’t have to. Her silence is safe, open. So I keep going.
“I remember being seven, watching him pack his gear while Mom sat at the kitchen table, trying not to cry. He’d kiss her cheek like it was an obligation. Then he’d leave and come back smelling like smoke and ash, looking right past me.”
Her hand tightens slightly around her mug. “That must’ve been hard.”
“Yeah,” I admit. “It was. You grow up learning to stop needing what you never got. Eventually, I figured if I couldn’t have a dad who was there for his family, maybe I could become the man who did.”
“You did.” Her voice is gentle but firm. “You stayed. For me.”
That lands harder than it should. I look at her—really look. There’s no pity in her gaze. Just quiet understanding. Recognition.
“You’ve done that a lot too, haven’t you?” I ask. “Stopped needing things. Taught yourself how to survive without them.”
She looks away, lashes low. “It’s safer that way.”
“Yeah,” I say softly. “It is. But it’s lonely, too. And that can break you.”
She nods, slowly. No arguments. Just the truth, sitting quietly between us. And for the first time in a long time, it doesn’t feel so heavy.
I watch her fingers trace the rim of her mug. There’s a small scar on her hand—like a cut that healed wrong. I shouldn’t be noticing things like that. Not when she’s still flinching at shadows. But I can’t help it. Everything about her draws me in. The way she folds into herself, the way she listens like it matters. LikeImatter. And fuck it if all I want to do her is hold her close to me, and let her know that while I’m around nothing will happen to her.
“You shouldn’t have to live like this,” I murmur, my voice lower now. “Always looking over your shoulder. Jumping at every noise. Like today when you were opening your door.”
Her eyes flick up to mine, guarded but soft.
I shift forward, on the couch across her. “Let me help, Lena. Not just in the moment. Long term. I could install better locks for you. Real ones. A proper security system. Cameras. Door sensors. Stuff you can control from your phone so you don’t have to feel scared every time you close your door.”
Her lips part, and for a second, I think she might say no. That she’ll tell me she’s got it handled. That I should stay out of her business.
But then she exhales, slow and shaky. “That... actually sounds like something I’d like.”
There’s this pause between us, thick with things unsaid. Gratitude and relief. Maybe even a flicker of trust.
And underneath it all, something warmer. Something that hums low in my chest when she looks at me like that. Like maybe I’m more than just the guy who stormed in her apartment to help her. Maybe I’m the one who gets to stay. Immediately I whip out my phone to check out some options I can show her.
I get up and move to the couch she’s sitting on. I settle beside her on the couch, careful to leave a bit of space. Not much, though. Just enough so she doesn’t feel boxed in—but close enough to feel the gravity pulling between us.
She watches me scroll through security options—Ring cameras, smart locks, motion sensors. Her fingers are curled around her coffee mug like it’s a lifeline, but there’s a softness to her now, like some part of her is starting to unclench.
“Here,” I murmur, turning the screen toward her. “This one’s solid. Built-in camera, alarm notifications, even lets you monitor from your phone.”
She leans in to look, but I can tell she’s squinting.
I nudge the phone a little closer and offer a small smile. “Want to hold it? Might be easier.”
She hesitates, then reaches for it. Her fingers brush mine. Just a second. A flicker of skin. But damn if it doesn’t feel like a live wire surging through me. Her eyes flick to mine, startled—and maybe something else. Curious and a little shy. She quickly tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and it makes her cheeks turn the softest shade of pink. God, that blush.
She’s already beautiful—but that blush? That reaction?
I always want to be the man who earns that look. The one who makes her blush like that again and again.
She leans in closer to the phone, our shoulders nearly touching. Her thigh brushes against mine, just slightly, and she doesn’t pull away. Her breath fans my neck, warm and sweet from the coffee, and I swear every part of me goes still.
“This one looks good,” she says, her voice quieter now. “It has all the features you said.”
Our heads are nearly touching now, both of us leaning in, barely an inch of air between us.
“It has everything you need,” I say, my voice low and steady. But I don’t mean just the doorbell camera anymore.
