Page 68 of Midnight Between Us
Four days ago, she looked at me.
Now I’m just another presence she’s learned to ignore.
This morning, I made a plan.
Breakfast.
That’s it.That’s all I had.
There was this thought—barely formed, completely ridiculous—that maybe Simone and I would eat together.Not romantic.Not loaded.Just two people trying to be less fractured over eggs and toast.I should’ve known it wouldn’t work out when I didn’t find the toaster.
Then, she didn’t come down.So I left the tray on the island.Added a note.A line that felt stupid the second I wrote it.
If I cook, will you have lunch with me?
It wasn’t a plea.
Not exactly.
More like a truce folded in half and left next to a bowl of fruit.
I thought I’d hang around.Sit nearby while she ate.Not talk, not push—just ...exist.In the same space.For five minutes.Well, that’s all I had because Delilah barged in and fucked with my plans.
Technically, she didn’t barge in, exactly—but she might as well have.
One minute, I was holding onto a sliver of hope.The next, Delilah’s dropping her cardigan on the bench like she’s the landlord and I’m overstaying my welcome.
So now I’m stuck here, trying not to listen, trying not to care.
Pretending I don’t see Simone moving around the kitchen like she’s running a peacekeeping mission.The mugs.The tea.The forced calm.
She’s going to keep Delilah here for hours, maybe until dinner or until I’m cleared to leave.
Probably long enough that I’ll forget how stupid it was to think lunch was a good idea.
Sims phone rings.She reaches for it in her pocket and stares at it with worry and hope, which is strange.She seems to be debating something and then she grabs her earbuds and says, “If you’ll excuse me, I have to take this.”
As she walks toward the hallway, I shift in my seat, trying to disappear into the chair.If she sees me sitting here like a kicked dog, I’ll never recover my dignity.So I push up and hobble toward the library, dragging my brace along the floor.I don’t shut the door all the way.Just leave it cracked so the latch won’t give me away.
My knee’s pulsing—raw and bitter like it’s lecturing for making so many sudden movements.
“Hey, Lyndon.”Her voice lifts.Lightens in a way I haven’t heard since we were teenagers.
That sound punches through my chest.
“Yeah, work is ...not ideal right now.I’m sorry I’ve been pushing our calls,” she says, and there’s something soft in her tone, something familiar that makes my jaw clench.
A pause.
I shouldn’t listen.Eavesdropping is a bad habit.I tell myself that once.Then again.The third time, I give up.Pride’s already shot to hell—what’s one more line crossed?
“I’ll tell you about it when I can.Right now, it’s complicated.How are you?”
Another pause.
I assume Lyndon is updating her.On what, I don’t know.Himself.His life.Their plans.Maybe the vacation they’re booking together.Maybe how much he misses her.
The ache in my chest goes from dull to sharp.
