I didn’t care. Nothing mattered except the feeling of him near me. His lips on mine. The way the world disappeared and only we remained. When we finally pulled apart to breathe, his forehead rested against mine. Both of us were breathing heavily.
Reality returned with brutal force. — “I can’t.” — I pulled away, putting my hands on his chest to create distance. — “Nick. I can’t. If everything goes wrong, I lose my job. I lose my home. I lose everything. I have too much to lose.”
— “And if I promise you’ll never lose anything?” — His hands were still on my waist. His thumbs traced circles through my blouse. — “Angela, even if we broke up, I would never leave you with nothing. Never.” — “You can’t promise that.”
— I shook my head, tears burning my eyes. — “Relationships end. People change their minds. I can’t rely on promises.” — “I don’t want it to end.” — His voice became quieter, vulnerable in a way I’d never heard. — “Angela, I’ve never felt this before. For anyone. It scares me.”
It scares me so much that sometimes I can’t breathe properly thinking about it. But you know what scares me even more? The thought of losing you. That I’ll never know what we could have been. I looked into his eyes, seeing the truth there. Fear and desire, fused with total vulnerability.
Nick Peterson, the man who commanded boardrooms full of executives, who moved millions with a word, was standing before me emotionally naked. I opened my mouth to answer. To say I was scared too. That I also wanted to take the risk. That maybe we could…
The phone rang. Loudly. Piercingly. Completely shattering the moment. We looked at the device on the desk as if it were a bomb. “Chris.” Her name flashed on the screen.
— “Answer it.” — Nick stepped back, running his hands through his hair. — “It might be important.” I answered with trembling hands. — “Chris?” — “Angela, I’m sorry to call you at work, but we have an emergency.” — Her voice was tense, agitated. — “The apartment. A pipe burst. Everything is flooded. Everything.”
The fire department is here. They said we have to move out for at least two weeks for repairs. My heart sank. — “What?” — “I’m going to stay with Jason. But you? Where are you going to live?” — Chris sounded genuinely worried. — “We don’t have renters’ insurance, so they won’t relocate us.”
I looked at Nick, who was watching me intently, clearly hearing at least my part of the conversation. — “I… I don’t know. I’ll figure something out.” — “Angela, I’m sorry. I know this is the worst timing,” Chris sighed. — “But you need to come and get whatever you can save before they lock the building.”
— “I’m on my way.” — I hung up, looking at Nick with an expression that was probably as lost as I felt. — “My apartment flooded. I have to go.” — “I’ll send the car.” — He was already grabbing his phone, dialing a number. — “Jack will take you. And… Angela.”
— He stopped, his eyes meeting mine. — “You have a place here. You always have a place.” The offer hung between us, loaded with meaning. It wasn’t just about the apartment. It was about everything. About us.
— “I’ll think about it,” I muttered, grabbing my bag. — “I have to go.” I left before I could see his expression. Before the temptation to go back and finish what we’d started became impossible to overcome.
In the car, touching my lips still swollen from the kiss, I felt like the universe was conspiring. The flooded apartment, his offer, the kiss that changed everything. Maybe some things are inevitable. Maybe fighting it is as futile as fighting the tide. Maybe… just maybe, it was time to stop being afraid and start living.
But first, I had to deal with the disaster at the apartment. Chapter Five.
Choice and Beginning. The apartment was a total loss. There was no other word for what I found when I arrived. Water everywhere. The smell of mildew was already starting to set in. The few pieces of furniture we had were soaked and ruined.
The fire department had cordoned off the area, allowing us to take only the essentials before completely closing the building. Chris was in the hallway with Jason, her boyfriend, surrounded by makeshift suitcases. Her eyes were red, but she was trying to hold it together. I managed to save our clothes and a few books.
— “The rest,” she gestured toward the wreckage behind her, “will have to be replaced.” — “How long before we can come back?” — I asked the firefighter coordinating the operation. — “At least two weeks for structural repairs. Maybe three.” — He checked his tablet. — “And after that, you’ll need to hire a specialized cleaning crew. It’s going to be expensive.”
Expensive? Of course it was. Everything was always expensive. I looked at my things piled in plastic bags and felt the familiar weight of financial uncertainty squeeze my chest. Where would I live? How would I pay for specialized cleaning? The landlord’s insurance would cover the building, but our personal belongings weren’t covered.
— “You can stay with us,” Jason offered, but his expression made it clear it was more of a courtesy than a real desire. His apartment was tiny, barely fitting him and Chris. — “I won’t get in your way.” — I forced a smile. — “I’ll figure something out.” Chris pulled me aside, away from Jason.
— “You know you have a place to stay, right? Nick practically offered you the whole house.” — “It’s complicated,” I muttered, feeling the ghost of the kiss still burning on my lips. — “Life is complicated,” she squeezed my hand. — “But you don’t have to go through everything alone. He cares about you, Angela, for real. And you care about him. Sometimes you just have to accept the help.”
I took what I could save, said goodbye to Chris, and went back to the car where Jack was patiently waiting. All the way back to the estate, I stared out the window. The phone felt heavy in my pocket. Should I call Nick? Look for a cheap hotel? Try to find a hostel? But the truth was, I didn’t have the money for a hotel for several weeks.
And the thought of staying somewhere where he wasn’t nearby, especially after that kiss, felt wrong on some internal level. Nick was waiting when I arrived. Not in his office working as usual, but in the foyer: hands in his pockets, his expression tight with worry. His gaze immediately fell on the bags I was carrying.
— “Is that all you could save?” — There was a note of anger in his voice, not directed at me. — “Almost everything.” — I set the bags on the floor, too tired to maintain appearances. — “The rest is ruined.” — “Stay here.” — It wasn’t a request or a suggestion; it was a statement. — “The guest room is yours for as long as you need, no discussion.”
— “Nick…” — I started, but he cut me off. — “Temporarily,” he added, as if that made the offer less loaded with meaning. — “Until the apartment is fixed. It’s just logical. You already work here. You’re already here most of the time. It’s practical.”
Practical. As if practicality were the reason we both knew this would change everything. — “Okay,” I gave in, because I had no real choice, and because, honestly, I didn’t want a choice. I wanted to stay. I wanted to be near him. I wanted to see what would happen if we stopped fighting the inevitable.
For a moment, the smile that appeared on his face was small but genuine. — “I’ll have Mrs. Davis prepare the room.” In the first few days, I tried to keep my distance, using the room only for sleep, spending minimal time in common areas, acting as if living there were a purely business arrangement. But the estate had a way of breaking down barriers. Like when I woke up early Tuesday and went down to brew coffee, and Nick was already in the kitchen: barefoot, sleepy, making eggs.
— “Good morning,” he said in a voice still raspy from sleep. — “Want some breakfast?” And somehow we ended up at the kitchen island, eating breakfast together as the sun rose behind the huge windows, talking about nothing important. Plans for the day, a funny news story he’d read. It felt domestic, normal, as if we’d been doing this for years.
Or like Thursday night, when I came back late from class and found Nick on the sofa in the living room. He was watching a documentary about behavioral economics. — “This one is good,” I noted, stopping in the doorway. — “Want to watch?” — He pointed to the spot next to him on the sofa. I should have said no. I should have gone to my room, kept a safe distance.
But I found myself sitting down, leaving a decent space between us. At first. Until the documentary got interesting, until I leaned forward to get a better look at a graph, until somehow we were side-by-side, shoulder-to-shoulder, sharing a bowl of popcorn. When the show ended, neither of us moved. We just sat in the cozy silence of the sleeping house, acutely aware of each other’s presence.
— “I should go to bed,” I whispered, but didn’t move. — “You should,” he agreed, also not moving. We sat there for another fifteen minutes before reason won out, and I finally stood up, muttered “goodnight,” and practically ran to my room. Mrs. Davis watched all this with that same all-knowing smile but had the wisdom not to comment. She just made sure we had dinner together when Nick returned late, that breakfast was ready for both, that we constantly had reasons to be in the same space.
The domesticity was addictive, dangerous. I caught myself looking forward to the shared moments, the morning coffee, and the late-night movies. I caught myself memorizing small details about him. How he liked his coffee, what he preferred when he was too tired to think. The sound of his laugh when something really amused him. And judging by his looks, he was doing the same.
Memorizing, studying, falling deeper, just like me. Friday night, two weeks after moving in, we were watching another movie. Some comedy neither of us was really paying attention to. I was tired, exhausted from a long week of classes, work, and tangled emotions. The sofa was comfortable, Nick was warm beside me, and without realizing it, my head ended up on his shoulder. I felt him tense for a second, then relax.
His arm went around my shoulders, pulling me a little closer. Safe, cozy, right. — “I’m just going to close my eyes for a minute,” I murmured, already half-asleep. — “Sure,” his voice was cheerful, tender. — “Just for a minute.” I fell asleep there, on his shoulder, just as I had fallen asleep in his car months ago.
Only this time, it wasn’t a mistake; it was a choice. I woke up briefly when I felt him lifting me. His strong arms held me against his chest. I should have protested, said I could walk myself. But I was warm, safe, and too tired to care. — “Nick…” — I murmured, half-asleep. — “Shh, just taking you to bed.” — His voice was quiet, gentle. — “Sleep.”
— “Thank you.” — The words came out slurred as I sank back into sleep. I didn’t see him lay me on the bed, how he pulled the duvet up to my chin. I didn’t see him stop in the doorway, looking back at where I slept. I didn’t hear him whisper so quietly it could have been my imagination: “How am I ever going to let you go?” But the next morning, I woke up with the sun streaming through the window, absolutely certain we couldn’t go on like this.
Circling each other, pretending it was temporary, that it meant nothing. Something had to change. I found Nick in the kitchen, already dressed, drinking coffee and reading something on a tablet. He looked up when I walked in, and his expression softened into something more open. — “Good morning. Sleep well?”
