Closer Than We should Be.

The city was unusually quiet that evening.

Catherine sat curled into the corner of Elijah’s battered couch, knees tucked up, a cup of hot chocolate warming her fingers. The garage had closed early — rain made the roof leak again, and he’d invited her upstairs to wait it out.

“Cozy,” she said with a teasing smile, surveying his small apartment. “Very grease-chic.”

He smirked. “Glad you approve. You can’t even see the ceiling stains in low light.”

“I thought they were abstract art.”

He leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping his coffee, watching her like he couldn’t decide whether she was real or a dream.

“I can’t believe you drink hot chocolate,” he said.

“I can’t believe you don’t.” She took another sip. “Also, marshmallows are non-negotiable.”

She looked up to find him closer now.

Closer than he had been a minute ago.

Their banter quieted.

The room pulsed with something heavier — warmer than the drink in her hand.

She put the cup down slowly, watching him.

“You keep looking at me like that,” she murmured, “and I might start thinking you want to kiss me.”

He took another step, now just a breath away.

“What if I do?”

“Then stop hesitating.”

The tension was unbearable — slow, sweet, and sharp all at once. His hand brushed her jawline, tracing down her neck, light as air. His lips hovered just over hers.

One more inch and—

BANG.

The apartment door burst open.

A woman stood there, soaked from rain, dripping onto the floor like a storm that hadn’t finished breaking.

“Elijah,” she said, her voice tight. “You haven’t been answering your phone.”

Catherine froze.

The woman was stunning — tall, sharp-cheekboned, dressed in a trench coat that screamed expensive. Her gaze cut to Catherine, then back to Elijah.

“Who is she?”

Catherine stood slowly. “I was just leaving.”

“No,” Elijah said, stepping in, voice low. “You don’t have to.”

Catherine looked between them.

Her heart knew better.

But her pride? It already had one hand on her purse.

“You have company,” she said, her voice clipped. “I shouldn’t intrude.”

The woman smirked, arms folded. “Don’t worry. I’m used to surprises. Aren’t I, Eli?”

He flinched. Catherine saw it.

Saw enough.

Outside, the rain had softened to a drizzle. Catherine walked fast. Too fast. Like she could outrun the sting in her chest.

She wasn’t even his girlfriend.

He owed her nothing.

So why did it feel like betrayal?

Inside, Elijah shut the door behind the woman.

“Leave, Talia.”

“I didn’t know you were entertaining heiresses now,” she said, voice sweet as venom. “Do your little poor-boy lies still work on girls like that?”

“Talia,” he warned.

She leaned in. “You walked out of our world, Elijah. You can’t cherry-pick what you want from it. Sooner or later, it catches up.”

She tossed an envelope on his table — sleek, heavy, gold-embossed.

An invitation.

The Blakes Gala.

“Your father sent me to remind you. RSVP before you embarrass him further.”

She paused at the door, turning back.

“She’s pretty, by the way. Too bad she won’t survive the truth.”

And then she was gone.

Back at Catherine’s apartment, she threw her soaked jacket on the floor and paced.

Stupid.

She shouldn’t have gone there.

She shouldn’t have let him look at her like that.

Touch her like she mattered.

Her phone lit up with a message.

Elijah: “Please don’t let tonight be the end of this.”

She stared at it.

Typed.

Deleted.

Typed again.

“Who is Talia?”

Message delivered.

No reply.

Not for a long time.

Then—

Elijah: “Someone I should have let go a long time ago.”

That was all Elijah said.

No explanation. No promise. No apology.

Catherine stared at her phone long after the screen dimmed. The words echoed like a hallway in her chest — empty, unfinished.

She tossed the phone onto the bed and climbed under the covers, but sleep didn’t come. Instead, her mind kept circling the memory of his fingers brushing her jaw, his lips just inches from hers. The way her heart had stuttered — like it wanted to leap straight into his hands.

And then her.

Talia.

Soaked, gorgeous, smug.

Not an ex. Not a stranger.

Someone he should’ve let go.

Which meant he hadn’t.

The next morning, Catherine walked into the city’s most exclusive brunch spot wearing oversized sunglasses and a mood as black as her coffee.

She was halfway through her croissant when she heard his voice.

“I was hoping I’d see you here.”

James Carter.

Perfectly pressed navy blazer. That effortless smile.

The boy her parents adored.

The man she didn’t want… until now, when wanting anyone but Elijah felt like a survival strategy.

She blinked up at him. “Morning.”

He tilted his head, watching her a moment.

“Mind if I join you?”

She hesitated.

Then nodded.

Ten minutes in, James had her laughing.

Fifteen, and she remembered why she’d almost agreed to date him once: he was safe. Elegant. Predictable.

“Come to the fundraiser Friday?” he asked. “I’ll be speaking.”

Catherine sipped her drink slowly. “Maybe.”

“You know your parents would be thrilled.”

“Now there’s a reason to sprint in the other direction.”

He chuckled, but there was a flicker of interest in his eyes — sharper than usual.

“You’re different this morning,” he said, gentler now. “Like someone ran over your heart and reversed twice.”

She didn’t answer.

He leaned forward.

“Who is he?”

She blinked. “What makes you think there’s a he?”

“Because if it were a woman, I’d be slightly more worried.”

She laughed, but it was hollow.

Then, quietly, “I don’t know who he is anymore.”

Outside, an hour later…

She was unlocking her car when she heard it.

“Elijah?” she said, stunned.

He stood beside the sidewalk, hood up, hands in his pockets. Wet again. Like the weather matched his timing.

“You followed me?”

“No. Well. Kind of.”

She crossed her arms.

“I needed to see you,” he said.

“You had your chance last night.”

“I didn’t ask for her to come.”

“But she came anyway. That says a lot, doesn’t it?”

“I ended things with her a long time ago.”

“Yet she walks into your home like she still belongs.”

“She doesn’t,” he said quickly. “Not in any of the ways that matter.”

She looked at him.

“You lied to me.”

His jaw clenched. “Not about that.”

“Not yet, you mean.”

They stood in silence as wind whipped between them, cars humming past like none of it mattered.

“I don’t know what this is,” she said finally. “But I’m not in the mood to audition for your attention.”

“You’re not a backup plan, Catherine.”

Her heart cracked at the way he said her name — like it physically hurt to let it go.

“I need to know you’re not lying to me.”

He looked down.

She waited.

He said nothing.

And that, somehow, was worse than if he’d spoken.

Later that night

Catherine stood in front of her mirror, applying makeup for James’ fundraiser.

She didn’t want to go.

But she couldn’t stay in limbo.

Not between a man who held back and a man who’d never ask her to.

Her phone buzzed on the counter.

Elijah: “I’ll tell you everything. Just… not like this. Not in a parking lot. Not when you already want to run.”

She stared at the message.

Typed:

“Then when?”

No reply.

This time, she didn’t wait.

She grabbed her purse and walked out the door.