Page 1 of Stuck with my Guarded MVP
For a Moment
It’s been 3,832 days since I saw that face.
I know it isn’t her. It can’t be.
But for a second, just one brutal, disorienting second, my brain glitches. The woman standing in the lobby has her exact eyes. That same warm honey-brown, wide and unguarded. The same tilt of her head when she’s listening closely. The same unconscious habit of tucking a strand of hair behind her left ear when she’s concentrating.
Like muscle memory from a life that isn’t hers.
I blink, and the illusion fractures. This woman’s posture is too careful. Too composed.
Shemoved through a room like gravity worked differently for her, arms wide when she laughed, her expression always half a second ahead of her thoughts.
This one wears control like armor.
Still, the resemblance is enough to make my chest ache. Enough to make me forget, for a second, what year it is. Where I am. Enough to drag up what I’ve spent ten years trying not to remember.
Same eyes. Same gesture. The resemblance is still crawling up my spine. Same legs. Butherswere usually in jeans and boots, not heels and a skirt that fits like that.
She turns, and I know it’s nother.
But for a second, I let myself feel it anyway.
The Tour
Liam
My phone buzzed.
"Mr. Callahan," the doorman said, his voice crackling slightly through the speaker. "You’ve got a delivery."
“Thanks, Arturo. I will be right down.”
“Let me guess, Mr. Callahan...another book?"
I could picture the smirk on his face. I smiled, wiping my hands on a dish towel. "That would be correct. Actually, it’s two this time. I need something to read on the plane."
"Living dangerously," he said, and the line clicked off.
I slipped on my shoes, grabbed my key card, and stepped into the elevator. No music, no chatter. Just the soft hum of motion and the low ping as the floors ticked by. My kind of quiet.
The lobby smelled faintly of citrus and polish, like it always did. Arturo stood behind the desk, a rectangular package already in hand, grinning like he’d just won a bet.
I took the box and gave it a quick shake, enough to feel the weight shift inside. "Biography of a Chef. French guy. And a book on fermentation techniques, I’ll probably screw up before I get them right."
Arturo chuckled. "Yeah, no need to pass that one along when you’re done."
"Didn’t think so."
I turned the package under my arm and started to head for the door.
A voice cut across the lobby.
Her voice. Tense. Clipped words. No give in her tone.
I stopped walking.
She was standing near the far window, phone to her ear, her back to me.
