Page 19 of Holiday Interference
“But you’re easy to talk to,” she admits. “And that’s…dangerous.”
A slow beat settles between us.
I swallow hard, trying to keep it light. “Guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”
She huffs a soft breath, and her shoulder shifts just enough that the blanket rustles.
“I should sleep,” she says. But she doesn’t move.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “Me too.”
The silence stretches again, but it’s not awkward.
It’s heavy with things we’re not saying.
I shift slightly, letting one arm fall out from behind my head, sliding across my chest to rest flat on the mattress.
She moves too.
Not much.
Just enough.
Her knee brushes mine under the sheet. Barely there, just fabric against fabric. But my body reacts like she’s touched skin. Every muscle tightens, then releases all at once.
I don’t speak. Neither does she.
But she doesn’t move away.
Instead, I feel her exhale. Slow. Careful. And her leg stays where it is.
I could reach for her. Could bridge the gap between us in a heartbeat.
But I don’t.
Not because I don’t want to.
Because this feels like more.
Not a lead-up. Not a tease. Just…being here. With her. In this soft, strange, midnight moment.
I let out a breath of my own, quieter than hers. My eyes close, and I focus on the rhythm of her breathing, the warmth radiating from her side of the bed.
She shifts again, just slightly, and now I can feel the curve of her shoulder near mine. We’re not touching. But we’re notnottouching either.
She whispers, voice barely above air.
“Goodnight, Cal.”
I open my eyes. The ceiling’s still dark. But everything inside me feels lighter.
“Night, Noelle.”
A few more heartbeats. Her breathing evens out.
And I let myself drift.
Closer to sleep than I’ve been in days.
