Me: But I don’t feel like it.
And I have homework.
Father: I did something for you.
Now you need to do something for me.
THE PRESENT
Dex is warm and attentive as he helps me settle into his spare apartment.
He gives me a quick tour, pointing out the essentials—the espresso machine, the quirky light switches, the Wi-Fi password scrawled neatly on a sticky note. He even mentions a few nearby restaurants and spots he thinks I’d like.
“This place is great,” I say, forcing a smile, genuinely happy but feeling overwhelmed and a little awkward about the situation.
“It’s yours for as long as you need,” he replies, his tone gentle but firm.
Then, just like that, he’s gone.
No hovering, no unnecessary lingering. He leaves me space, and yet I feel so profoundly seen and cared for that it’s unsettling.
A few hours later, there’s a knock at the door. I open it to find Dex standing there, a bag in one hand and a coffee cup in the other.
“Here,” he says, holding them out to me. “A bagel from that place I was telling you about. Their everything bagels are amazing, and I remember you said you liked scallion cream cheese.”
I blink, stunned. “Thank you? How did you?—”
“You mentioned it once a while ago,” he says with a shrug, grinning. “And I filed it away. Oh, and this…” He lifts the cup. “Cold brew with a shot of espresso. No sugar, no cream. Just how you like it.”
My heart races, and not entirely in a good way. He got my exact order right, and I don’t even remember telling him.
“And I’m glad I did,” he adds, “because I saw the way your beautiful eyes lit up when you saw both the bagel and the coffee.”
I laugh. “That was because I sawyou,” I deadpan. “I… thanks,” I say, taking the bag and cup.
But the truth is, my mind is spinning. I’m in fight or flight mode from this gesture, and I’m trying to figure out his angle.
“Anyway, I just stopped by to give you these,” he says. “I’ve got to head into work for a bit, but I wanted to see you—even if just for a second.”
Before I can respond, he leans in and wraps me in a quick, firm hug. His scent—clean, woodsy, with a hint of leather—lingers as he pulls back and gives me a soft, lingering kiss on the cheek that makes my pussy clench.
“Okay, gorgeous,” he says with a smile. “I’ll text you later to figure out our next adventure.”
“Okay, bye!” my voice squeaks, and I watch him head down the driveway, his leather jacket slung over one shoulder. He stops to put on his helmet, then straddles his motorcycle and roars away, disappearing down the street.
It’s such a simple act of kindness.
And I don’t trust it.
“Fucking hell,” I whisper to myself, staring at the bagel and coffee in my hands. “What have I gotten myself into?”
LATER IN THE WEEK
“So let me get this straight,” Sophia, my new therapist, says, tapping her pen against her cheek.
I prioritized my mental health and signed up for a new provider the moment I could. We’ve had one intake session, and I like her already.
“You’re upset because this attractive, tattooed man brought you your favorite bagel and coffee, and that he remembered your order correctly?”