Page 133 of Impulse Control
Noor’s edits. Frankie’s mood board. René’s list. Mischa’s project. The emails I’d promised myself I’d send “tomorrow.” The version of myself that stayed competent by never saying no.
And underneath all of it—Dominic.
The way his voice had sounded when he’d asked if I missed him. The way he’d let me go anyway.
I forced my mouth into something light.
“I can’t,” I said. “Not tonight.”
Her expression didn’t fall. She didn’t pout or pressure me. She just nodded like she understood in a way I didn’t.
“Fair,” she said easily. “Another rain check.”
“Yeah,” I replied, and my voice did something stupid—caught on the word like it meant more than it should.
She studied me for a beat, then tilted her head. “You ever take breaks, days off, or is that just an urban myth?”
I almost laughed. Almost said something honest. Instead, I shrugged as I finished packing my camera up. “I’m… working on it.”
Her smile softened. “Okay.” Then, like it was nothing, like she hadn’t just asked for a piece of my time and been refused, she added, “You’re all packed up. Walk with me for a minute?”
It wasn’t a drink.
It wasn’t even a plan.
It was just the hallway between set and street.
I nodded before I could talk myself out of it.
We walked out together into the evening air. The sky was bruised gray, the city damp from earlier rain. Streetlights flickered on like they were waking up.
For a few blocks, we didn’t talk. The quiet wasn’t awkward. It was… breathing room.
At the corner, she stopped.
“So,” she said, fingers hooked around the strap of her bag. “You’re always running.”
I stiffened, just slightly.
She seemed to notice and softened her tone immediately. “Not judging,” she added. “Just… noticing. Each time I’ve seen you—you’re working, coming, going out, always on the way to something else.”
I stared at the wet pavement. My reflection warped in it.
“I like being busy,” I said, because it was the easiest truth I had.
“Mm,” she hummed, like she believed me. Then she asked, very quietly, “But do youlikeit?”
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
Her eyes held mine—steady, unflinching, like she didn’t mind whatever answer I gave, or even if I didn’t give one at all.
Then she smiled again, easy as ever, and stepped closer.
Not touching.
Just close enough that I could feel the heat of her.
