Crest called just after seven, his voice low and familiar through the phone, in the way that always made my shoulders loosen a little. “Hey, I just got back in,” he said. “If you’re not buried in work, maybe come over, have dinner with me?”Dinner. The word alone felt like relief. The apartment around me was heavy with tension. The sharp echo of Monica’s music still vibrating through the walls, the smell of her perfume clinging to the air like entitlement.“Dinner sounds perfect,” I said quietly.By the time I got to Crest’s building, the city had begun to cool into evening, lights softening in the windows, the air tinged with that faint metallic scent Chicago gets when it’s about to rain but never quite does. He was already waiting at the door, barefoot, wearing a dark button-down with the sleeves rolled up. The faint smell of rosemary, garlic, and something buttery drifted through the air, wrapping the space in quiet warmth.His place looked the way he always did. Clean lines, calm
Last Updated : 2025-12-01
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