She searched his face for pity, frustration, even confusion but there was none. Harlan meant it. He wasn’t embarrassed. He wasn’t frustrated. He was present. Still with her.
“You sure?” she asked.
“I’m sure,” he said, calm and unbothered. “I’m here because I like your mind. What I was drawn to tonight? Still here and I’m notwithdrawnbecause you aren’t ready.”
Her throat tightened.Thatwas what made it hard. Not rejection but kindness. Not a cold withdrawal, but a warm, steady staying.
“Thank you,” she said, eyes burning a little at the edges.
“You don’t have to thank me, beautiful.”
Then she stood. “I should head out.”
“Are you sure? This doesn’t have to ruin the evening.”
“I…I know…but I think it’s best that I go.”
“Okay,” he nodded. “I’ll walk you down,” he offered.
“You don’t have to?—”
“I want to.”
She nodded. Quiet. Grateful.
At the elevator, neither of them tried to fill the space with fake promises. He didn’t ask when he’d see her again. She didn’t pretend tonight meant more than it did. It had meant something. Just not what either of them expected.
No shame.
No awkward tension.
No pretending.
No need to explain away whatdidn’thappen.
Just two people—trying.
One learning how to move slow.
The other honoring that.
ADAIR
Adair sat on the couch, TV low, half-watching the game highlights. Ade had knocked out an hour ago mid-sentence, still halfway telling him some rambling story about the rocket launcher they were going to build. He always ran himself into the ground on Fridays, and Adair didn’t mind. Truth be told, he preferred when his son was up. When the noise filled the space. He felt sad when bedtime crept in.
Now the only sound was the TV. Adair wasn’t even watching—just staring. Thinking. About her. She’d been distant on the phone earlier. Not cold, just…elsewhere. Distracted. Polite, but not tender. She used to say his check-ins were performative. Now that they were genuine, she didn’t even seem to notice.
Adair leaned forward, elbows on knees, phone flipped face down on the table. A knock at the door caused him to sit up, confused for a second as he wasn’t expecting anyone.
When he opened the door, Tate was standing there in a hoodie and sweats, holding a bottle of Hennessey and wearing the kind of expression that didn’t come with good news. His face saidyou might wanna sit down.
“Ade already sleep?”
“Yea, why?” Adair stepped back letting him walk in.
“Good. 'Cause I’m about to say some shit and ion need his lil snitchin’ ass in my mouth.”
“Don’t talk about my son nigga.”