105. Warm Night (1)

The oversized grey T-shirt hung loosely on Ashley's frame, brushing halfway down her thighs. Its sleeves were far too long, nearly swallowing her hands, hiding the curves that were usually defined beneath her sharp, structured outfits. Her hair was still damp, slightly fluffed from the shower, and her skin looked fresh, radiant with the kind of glow that only came from warm water and a moment of peace. Her bare feet made no sound against the wooden floor.

Josh froze in the doorway, one hand still gripping the doorframe. He hadn’t meant to stare. But the sight in front of him hit him in a way he couldn’t quite explain. Like stumbling upon a painting in a forgotten gallery—quiet, understated, but suddenly too much.

It wasn’t that Ashley looked beautiful. She was always beautiful, even when angry or annoyed. It was something else tonight. Something softer. More exposed. Real.

Ashley turned, sensing his presence, and met his gaze.

“What is it?” she asked, a little uneasy, catching the way his eyes lingered.

Josh looked away quickly, scratching the back of his neck. “Nothing. You just... look different.”

“Different bad or different like someone who accidentally brought the wrong suitcase and is now forced to wear her guy friend's shirt?” she muttered, walking toward the balcony.

Josh chuckled and followed. “Different... like a real person.”

The balcony of their penthouse wasn’t just a balcony. It was a small private garden in the sky. On the right side stood two woven rattan chairs and a round marble table. The left was lined with large terracotta pots filled with lavender, rosemary, and trailing ivy. Soft garden lights glowed from beneath the wooden floorboards, casting gentle shadows on the wall.

The Los Angeles night sky stretched wide above them, painted in quiet grey. The city still shimmered, but not with the urgency of daytime. The air was cooling, and the breeze caught Ashley’s hair as she sat down and reached for a bottle of red wine.

“You don’t mind, do you?” she asked, already pouring into two stemmed glasses.

Josh took the seat across from her and accepted the glass. “Not at all. I think we deserve one quiet night before the moving chaos officially begins.”

Ashley smiled faintly. “Cheers to that.”

Their glasses met with a soft clink. The wine was dark, smooth, and comforting. There was no music that night. Just the rustle of wind, the hum of distant traffic, and the too-loud thumping of their own hearts.

“I still can’t believe we’re here,” Ashley murmured. “LA. You. Me. Under one roof.”

Josh nodded slowly. “Yeah. It feels... strange. But right. In a way I don’t really know how to explain.”

Ashley studied his face, looking for a trace of what had changed. Something had shifted between them. Not in an obvious way, but subtle. A look that lingered longer. A quiet gentleness.

“You’ve changed,” she said, almost to herself.

Josh turned to her, his voice soft. “Changed how?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Like... you’re noticing more. Like you’re really seeing things.”

Josh laughed under his breath and looked up at the sky. “Maybe it’s because I am paying attention.”

Ashley didn’t respond immediately. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was... peaceful. Honest.

“Do you remember when we were in school?” Josh asked out of nowhere, his voice barely above a whisper.

She smiled at the memory. “Of course.”

“You always sat near the window,” he said, a hint of nostalgia curling in his words. “Brought those cute little lunches. Wrote in a blue diary you thought no one saw.”

Ashley burst into laughter. “You remember all that?”

Josh took a slow sip of his wine. “I always noticed you. But I never knew how to talk to you back then. There was always someone else around. Always the wrong time.”

She didn’t speak, only looked at him. And in that long, quiet moment, she could feel something unravel inside her—walls she didn’t even realize she’d built beginning to crumble.

Josh leaned forward, his arm resting lightly on the table, bridging the space between them.

“I don’t know if this is the right time either,” he said gently. “But... I don’t want to keep missing moments. At the very least, I want you to know. Back then, I liked you. And now... I still do.”

There was nothing theatrical in his words. No grand declarations. Just truth—delivered with a kind of calm courage that made Ashley’s breath hitch.

She opened her mouth to respond, but Josh moved first.

He leaned in, slowly, carefully, as if giving her space to pull away if she wanted. But she didn’t move. She just watched his face draw closer, his eyes kind, his expression unguarded. There was no urgency in him. No hunger. Just tenderness. And something else—something that didn’t need a name.

When his lips finally touched hers, Ashley closed her eyes.

The kiss was light, tentative. Not rushed. Not demanding. Just a quiet promise that maybe, just maybe, there was something real worth exploring between them. Heat bloomed gently in her chest, spreading outward to her fingertips.

Josh’s hand reached up and touched her cheek, feather-light. As though he feared she might break. And maybe, in some ways, they were both fragile—this connection, these emotions, everything between them still so undefined.

When they finally pulled away, Ashley opened her eyes slowly. The city lights still twinkled. The wind still blew softly. But inside her, something had shifted.

Josh looked at her carefully. “Was that weird for you?”

Ashley bit her bottom lip, then gave a tiny nod. “Weird... but not in a bad way.”

Josh smiled, though there was a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. Uncertainty, maybe. Or something heavier.

“Josh,” she said quietly. “That girl... your girlfriend. You haven’t mentioned her lately.”

His body stiffened. The wind stilled.

“She’s...” He looked down, as if weighing each syllable. “She’s still in the hospital. Some days are better. Some aren’t. I don’t really know what to do. But... we haven’t spoken in a while.”

Ashley stared at her wine glass, now nearly empty. “So... you’re still together?”

Josh met her gaze, pain flickering behind his eyes. “Technically, yes. But in reality... not anymore. I still take care of what she needs. I still show up. But we’re not together, Ashley. I care about her. But it’s not the same kind of love anymore.”

Ashley gave a slow nod. But her chest still ached.

Josh reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers. “I’m not asking you to believe me right away. But I won’t lie to you either. I want to see where this goes. Not because you’re a replacement. But because you’re someone I’ve always wanted to truly know.”

She didn’t answer. But she didn’t pull her hand away.

That night didn’t end with sweeping answers or neat conclusions. There were no promises made, no future laid out.

Just two people, sitting in the quiet of a garden above the city, trying—honestly, gently—to be real with each other. Even if the world around them was still uncertain.

And on that small balcony, surrounded by the scent of lavender and soft garden lights, something long buried beneath past wounds and unspoken hopes began to bloom again.