Page 27 of Holiday Interference
We both look down at the ruined coffees.
“Well,” she says, brushing hair from her face, “guess that was our heroic moment for the morning.”
“Tragic end to a solid cup of coffee. Wanna go back for another?”
“Nah, I’m good.”
We walk the rest of the way in silence.
And I keep thinking—if I’d let myself hold her for one second longer, I wouldn’t have wanted to let go.
When we finally make it into the building, we still haven’t spoken.
The elevator dings louder than it should.
We step inside like we didn’t just lose two perfectly good coffees and nearly kiss on a street corner. Like my hand wasn’t on her waist and her breath wasn’t warm against my neck.
Like my pulse isn’t still hammering behind my ribs.
Noelle tugs the sleeves of my sweatshirt down over her hands. It swallows her whole. Makes her look small. Or maybe just softer.
She doesn’t meet my eyes.
Neither of us speaks until the doors slide closed and the hum of the lift kicks in.
Then, quiet.
“So…you catch women like that often? Or is it a holiday special?”
She’s teasing.
But it doesn’t land.
Not today.
Not after the way she looked at me. Like maybe she felt it too.
I glance down. Her arms are crossed tight. Chin tilted just a little too high. Like she’s trying to roll over it, pretend it didn’t get under her skin.
I give her a half-smile I don’t mean. “Only when they wear clown shoes and tempt fate.”
That gets a breathy laugh out of her, but it sounds forced.
We get off the elevator on the fourth floor and I unlock the door to my apartment, letting her in first.
I stand in the hallway for a few seconds, alone. Trying to get my thoughts together after that near kiss.
My hands are still twitching at the need to tunnel them through all that thick auburn hair.
I think I’ve become low key obsessed with her hair.
She shrugs out of the coat and kicks off the boots, then heads to the kitchen like she’s looking for a reset button.
“I’ll make us a pot,” she says, already reaching for the coffee. “Can’t end the morning on a caffeine tragedy.”
I watch her back. The way her shoulders tense, how she moves faster than necessary.
And I know I screwed it up.
