My stomach twists hard. I really hope this goes well. I hope she’s not about to use this as an opportunity to tell me we can’t do this again.
After I look up at the apartment windows, I sit for a minute. She doesn’t appear. Not the way she did last night when I was driving away. It was nice then, seeing her standing up there. She cared enough to watch me leave.
But she’s not there now. Not waiting. Perhaps this is an invitation to confirm we’ve ended before whatever we are has even begun.
I step out of the car, lock it, then walk over to the buzzer.
There are four apartments in the block. Her name—Cole—is the top one.
I press it.
The door buzzes open.
She doesn’t say anything through the intercom, so I just step inside. The stairs feel heavy beneath my feet. Every step takes effort. As keen as I was to come here, I’m also terrified of the truth: that maybe, after today, she considers taking a chance on us is too much of a risk. And she prefers keeping work and life separate. That boardrooms are not dating agencies.
It seems to take forever to reach her apartment on the second floor.
When I get there, she’s already standing in the doorway. Waiting for me. Complete with pale pink sweats, looking more relaxed than I’ve ever seen her. Hair loose around her shoulders. It suits her.
It’s not the Antonia from the office.
Not the Antonia I met at the restaurant.
This is someone different. Tired. Withdrawn. Even vulnerable.
But undoubtedly attractive. The way the material gives way to her curves sends my thoughts wild. Places not suited to where our relationship is now.
Her lips part slightly, almost nervously. She steps back without speaking and lets me in. I go to shrug out of my coat, but stop myself halfway through. I don’t want her to think I’m assuming anything today. That’s if this is going to be longer than a five-minute conversation.
“How can I help you?” she asks as she closes the door behind me.
Her head tilts slightly to one side, eyes dull with exhaustion. Not angry, not defensive—just distant. I don’t like that. I want her close, not turned away.
“I didn’t like how today ended,” I tell her quietly. “Not after last night.”
“Last night was dinner,” she says. “A thank you. A thank you for sorting out the funding. A thank you for the wellies. Just… a thank you.”
“And the kiss at the end? The moment today?” The questions come out sharper than I intend. Is she really going to pretend it didn’t mean anything?
I glance around the apartment. Everything is minimal. Clean. Almost sterile. No photographs or clutter. No personality. No sign that someone actually lives here. Perfect, but cold. A bit like the persona she shows in the boardroom.
But the woman I met last night wasn’t cold.
The woman I met last night liked being close to me. She wanted my hand on hers. That’s why her pushing me away today feels so bad.
She clears her throat, glancing past my shoulder for a moment before looking back into my eyes.
“It meant something,” she says quietly. “But you and I both know this can’t work.”
I stare at her. “Why the hell not?”
“Look at us,” she says. “We’re both broken versions of the young people who thought they’d have amazing lives. Sure,we’ve built something decent, but people like us don’t get happy endings.”
“People like us,” I repeat. “What do you mean by that?”
She falls silent. Her eyes drift anywhere but toward me as her fingers lace together in front of her, twisting nervously. She’s like a completely different person from the woman I know.
“People who’ve loved and lost.”