There had been moments already. Too many.
His hand at the small of her back as they crossed a street. Her fingers brushing his wrist when she reached for a pan and neither of them moving immediately away. The night she fell asleep reading on the sofa and woke under a blanket she knew she had not pulled over herself. The morning he returned from a shower in a gray T-shirt, hair wet, and she had to look down into her tea because desire had arrived late but unmistakably, embarrassing in its force.
She did not know what to do with wanting someone who had originally wanted to win.
He, for his part, seemed to understand that pressure would ruin everything. He never cornered. Never demanded emotional declarations. Never used the vocabulary of sacrifice. He simply remained. Attentive. Irritating. Present.
Then came September, and with it the gala invitation.
Not the same hotel. Not the same charity. But the same world.
Maya found the envelope on the entry table. Heavy cream paper. Black script. Taylor’s company logo embossed on the back. She looked at it for a long time before opening it.
When he came home that evening, she was at the kitchen island turning the card over in her hands.
“You don’t have to go,” he said immediately.
She glanced up. “You already know what it is?”
“I told my assistant to leave it there in case you wanted the choice.”
Maya studied him. “The last gala nearly put me in the hospital.”
“The last gala was part of what finally got me to stop being an idiot.”
“That’s not exactly reassuring.”
He came farther into the kitchen, loosening his tie. “Then don’t come.”
She tapped the envelope. “Do you want me there?”
His answer was quiet. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you with me.” He leaned one hip against the counter. “But wanting something and deserving it aren’t always the same.”
Maya looked back at the invitation. She could almost hear the music already, smell the perfume and champagne and judgment. She could also feel the version of herself who had left the first one humiliated and shaking. She did not want to remain her forever.
“I’ll come,” she said.
Taylor’s expression changed—surprise first, then caution. “Only if you want to.”
“I don’t,” she said. “But maybe that isn’t the point.”
