Page 124 of Every Shattered Note
Pretending I don’t already feel at home.
The city slips past the window—blurred lights, wet streets, a streak of neon reflected on glass.It’s quiet in the car, but it’s a comfortable quiet.Every few seconds, I feel him glance at me, as if he’s checking that I’m still real, still here, still breathing beside him.
“Where are we going?”I ask eventually.
“Barret’s old place,” he says, his gaze on the road.“He moved out a few months ago.Told me I could stay there while they fix my place—or we buy a new one.”
I blink.“We?”
“You and me,” he answers, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.
I laugh, a startled sound that gets caught somewhere between disbelief and panic.“Whoa.First date’s tomorrow, remember?”
He scoffs softly.“You really freaked out over that, huh?”
“I’m not freaking out,” I lie.“I’m just ...acknowledging that you’re skipping a few steps.Big steps.”
“Listen,” he says, leaning back like this is just casual conversation and not an emotional ambush.“I’m thinking about buying a lot and building.That’s a year-long process—maybe more.By then, we’ll be on a second date.Maybe married.Who knows?”
I turn toward him, half glaring, half melting.“Wow.That’s a very open timeline.”
He grins, eyes on the road but voice low.“The point is, I want you to help me choose everything.Make it our dream home.”
The car slows at a light.Raindrops tap against the windshield, soft percussion over the quiet between us.I can’t tell if he’s joking or if this is Dexter Vaughn’s version of a confession—straightforward, slightly unhinged, and far too open for someone who used to hide behind a spotlight.
“What if we don’t work out after the first date?”I ask as I finally find my voice.“What if this ...whatever this is, falls apart before it starts?”
He leans closer, his breath grazing my ear, voice low enough to melt through the quiet.
“Baby,” he murmurs, “I’m going to try my fucking best to make you fall in love with me soon.I want forever with you.”
The words sink in slowly—warm, terrifying, too much.My throat tightens, and not in a bad way.It’s just that everything inside me is suddenly louder.My pulse.My breath.My disbelief that this man, who is sitting next to me saying forever like it’s a promise he already plans to keep.
I look at him, and his hand is already reaching for mine—tentative, but sure once I don’t pull away.His fingers slip between mine like they’ve been waiting for that space.
“You don’t have to promise me forever,” I whisper, though my voice shakes with something I can’t name.
He smiles, eyes still on the road.“I already did, in a dream.”
I should tell him to slow down.
I should tell him that this isn’t how people rebuild their lives—that you don’t create futures out of second chances and midnight drives through half-empty streets.
But I don’t, because with him, the future doesn’t sound like a curse.
It sounds like him.
The car eases to a stop in front of a glass tower overlooking the water.Seattle stretches around us in muted, silver tones—wet streets reflecting streetlights, the bay below glinting under the last thin trace of moonlight.
A doorman steps forward, umbrella in hand, greeting Dexter with the kind of deference that says he’s been here before.Raindrops slide from the umbrella as Dexter exchanges a few words I barely catch—something about the weather, something polite and easy.Then his hand finds the small of my back, guiding me through the marble lobby.
The air smells faintly of rain and expensive polish.My shoes click against the floor until we reach the elevator, its brass doors gleaming beneath soft golden light.He presses the top button, and the doors slide shut with a quiet sigh after we step inside.
The hum begins as we rise.The city drops away beneath us, floor numbers blinking one by one.The mirrored walls reflect everything—the pulse in my throat, the tension I pretend not to feel, the way his reflection keeps drifting toward mine.
Dexter stands beside me, his shoulders squared, hands buried in the pockets of his jacket.His jaw is tight, focused on the numbers climbing higher, but his gaze flicks toward me—toward my hand clutching my purse like a lifeline, toward my reflection standing too close to his.
Neither of us speaks.We don’t have to.The silence carries enough between us to fill the whole ascent.
