For a moment, I let myself take Alois in. At the way his shoulders had finally dropped, the tension bleeding out of him in slow, quiet increments. At the way his eyes had softened just enough to take the edge off the sharpness that usually lived there.
At the way he didn’t push.
Didn’t perform.
Didn’t make a moment out of something that could have been one.
And something in me—something I’d been holding tight, keeping contained, managing and controlling and structuring into something safe—cracked just enough to let something else through.
Something warmer.
Something more dangerous.
I pulled the blanket tighter around myself, the fabric soft against my skin as I leaned back into the couch.
The rest of our evening stretched into a normalcy that was too comfortable. We were both too tired to fight it. Or at least I was.
After the takeout was delivered, we settled into a rhythm of light conversation about events, meetings, practices, games and the gala. It was so easy and relaxed. Alois spoke, not much, but enough to keep the conversation flowing.
“Tux fitting right after,” I finished before popping a dumpling in my mouth.
Alois glanced at tomorrow’s schedule without complaint.
It was simple, but once I was curled in bed, head on my pillow, listening to Alois softly snore next to me, I started to feel a gentle admiration. One that should have felt dangerous. but it was warm. Cozy. And everything I should have been avoiding.
By the timeI stepped into the spa the next afternoon, the world had already shifted again.
One environment to the next. One version of myself to another. Like I lived in compartments—cleanly divided, carefully managed, never overlapping.
Steam curled lazily along the ceiling, soft and weightless, carrying the faint scent of citrus and something floral that settled into the back of my throat. Low conversation drifted through the space in quiet waves—women speaking just loud enough to be heard without ever disrupting the atmosphere.
“Bebê.” Lo’s voice cut through everything else, warm and bright and impossibly familiar. Her southern drawl comforting in any language to me.
I turned just in time for her arms to wrap around my middle, silk and perfume and warmth pulling me in perfectly.
“You look exhausted,” she murmured, pulling back just enough to study my face. “And don’t lie to me. I practically raised you.”
“I’m fine,” I lie automatically.
Her brow lifted. “Of course you are,” she hummed, brushing a piece of hair back from my face like I was still ten and about to head to a school dance. “You’ve always been fine.”
Lucy appeared beside her a second later, softer in presence but no less observant, her smile easy as she leaned in for a quick hug.
“Hi,” she huffed lightly. “You look like you haven’t slept in weeks.”
I blew a small laugh. “That’s not inaccurate.”
Lo’s eyes sharpened just slightly, catching something under the surface. “Come on,” she sang, looping her arm through mine and guiding me further into the space. “Everyone deserves a little pampering.”
The chairs were soft. The lighting low. The quiet hum of dryers and low music settled into something steady beneath everything else, grounding in a way I hadn’t realized I needed.
I let them work. Hands in my hair. Warm water against my scalp. The gentle pull of fingers through strands, smoothing, shaping, perfecting.
“Ezra and I are really proud of you,” Lo dropped casually, like she was commenting on the weather.
I opened one eye, glancing at her through the mirror. “For what?”
She met my gaze easily, completely unbothered by the vulnerability threaded through the words. “For the wayyou’re handling yourself. That job wasn’t what you expected, and you didn’t run.”