~ 55 ~

~ 55 ~
LILA

I should be asleep.

With the weight of the day behind me—the endless meetings, the laughter and clinking glasses at the team dinner, the way the wine had left a warm haze in my head—I should be curled under the sheets, lost in a dream or two. But instead, I paced.

Barefoot and restless, I moved back and forth across the floorboards of Lucas’s living room, the dim glow from the hallway light casting long shadows across the space. I’d tried everything—tea, a shower, even lying in bed and counting the seconds—but nothing could calm the storm brewing quietly beneath my skin.

He’d left in such a rush. One phone call, one panicked voice on the other end, and he was out the door before I could even think to stop him. The look in his eyes haunted me—there had been fear there, raw and undiluted, wrapped in urgency. I told myself I shouldn’t worry. That it wasn’t my place to. But I was worried. And I couldn’t help it.

I checked my phone for the hundredth time. Nothing.

Not even a “don’t wait up.” I didn’t know if that made it worse or better. All I knew was that silence was beginning to hurt.

I sank into his couch, the scent of him still clinging to the fabric, my mind spinning in loops. That kiss—God, that kiss—it hadn’t been ordinary. It hadn’t been born of impulse or lust. It had been more. It had said the things neither of us had the courage to speak aloud. It had cracked something open in me, something I thought I’d buried under years of silence and self-protection.

What did it mean now? For him? For me?

Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was the ghost of his hands on my waist, the way he’d whispered my name like it was a prayer, but I knew I couldn’t pretend it meant nothing. Not anymore. I just didn’t know what to do with that truth.

I didn’t hear the door open. Didn’t even realize someone was there until I felt the gentle weight of a hand on my shoulder.

I jumped, startled, until I saw his face.

Lucas.

He looked exhausted—dark circles under his eyes, shirt wrinkled, the edges of his tie undone—but he was here, and he was safe. That was all that mattered in that moment.

“You’re still awake?” he asked, voice low, rough from fatigue

“I was worried,” I said softly. The truth slipped out before I could stop it. And it made him smile, just a little.

I glanced at the clock. 2:33 a.m. The kind of hour that made everything feel surreal, like the world was paused and only we were still moving inside it.

He moved to sit beside me, close enough that I could feel the heat of his body. “It was a family emergency,” he said gently. “But everything’s okay now. She’s okay.”

She.

Whoever she was, I could tell she mattered.

I nodded, relief washing over me like a slow tide. “I’m glad,” I said.

His hand rose to cup my cheek, warm and steady, and I leaned into it instinctively. There was something grounding in his touch, something that made the chaos of the past few hours feel far away.

“It’s late,” he murmured, thumb brushing against my skin. “You should be in bed. You’ve got work tomorrow.”

“So do you,” I countered.

He smiled again, softer this time. “Touché.”

I watched him, studied the weariness in his eyes, the gratitude buried beneath it. He reached for my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Thank you, Lila.”

He didn’t elaborate. Didn’t need to. I understood what he meant.

For being here. For waiting. For caring.

I nodded, my throat too tight to speak, and he stood, pausing as if to memorize the moment.

That was enough.

For tonight, it was enough.

\---

By the time the sun spilled through the tinted windows of the store the next morning, I’d already been at my desk for nearly an hour, sipping lukewarm coffee and staring at the endless list of tasks that demanded my attention. Inventory reports. Vendor calls. Event schedules. Design revisions. Ethan’s scribbled notes on potential collaborations. Every file and document felt heavier than usual. And yet, none of it compared to the weight in my chest.

I was supposed to be focused, grounded. I was anything but.

A knock at the door pulled me out of the fog. I looked up to see Ethan stepping aside, revealing two new faces—freshly assigned team members I’d been briefed about yesterday but hadn’t met until now.

“This is Malik,” Ethan said, gesturing to the taller of the two, a lean man in his early thirties with neat locs pulled into a tie-back and warm, observant eyes. “And this is Seyi,” he added, motioning toward the other—slightly shorter, with close-cropped hair, square glasses, and a quiet sort of presence that suggested he saw more than he spoke.

I stood and extended a hand to both.

“Welcome to the team,” I said with a small smile. “I know starting somewhere new can be overwhelming, but we’re big on collaboration here. There’s a rhythm to how things run—fast-paced but fluid.”

They both nodded, eyes attentive, listening.

I walked them through our structure—how the departments synced, what their individual roles would be, the deadlines, the team culture. I told them how we handled clients, especially the unpredictable ones, how we dealt with last-minute requests, how creative input was always welcome as long as it respected the vision.

When I finished, I looked at Ethan. “You’ll pair them with someone for today’s prep run?”

“Already have someone in mind,” he said. “They’ll shadow Anne. She’s setting up the Bristol layout.”

“Perfect,” I said. “Let me know how they do.”

Once they’d left, I exhaled and settled back in, the smile slipping from my face as the quiet wrapped around me again. The spreadsheets on my desk blurred together, numbers dancing uselessly across the page. I ran a hand through my hair and let my eyes close, just for a moment. But it wasn’t peace that met me there—it was the memory of this morning.

The way I’d woken to the sound of his voice.

Lucas had been standing by the window, phone pressed to his ear, back stiff, tension radiating off him in waves. His voice was low, rough, but the sharp edges weren’t hard to catch. Something was wrong. Something was seriously wrong.

I hadn’t meant to interrupt, just wanted to slip past and give him space. But when he saw me, his shoulders dropped—just a little. He turned half away, continuing to bark clipped orders into the phone, a vein in his jaw ticking with each word. I couldn’t make sense of what he was saying, but the anger… it was potent. Not reckless, but fierce. Contained only just.

Then, without warning, he’d hung up and tossed the phone toward the couch. It landed with a muted thud. He turned to me slowly, his face calmer now, as if forcing himself into gentleness.

“You sleep okay?” he asked, voice softer than I’d ever heard it.

I nodded, though I wasn’t sure it was true.

He stepped closer, brushing a hand lightly over my arm, a touch that didn’t quite ask for permission but didn’t push past boundaries either. “I was gonna make breakfast. You want anything? Eggs? Pancakes?”

I hesitated. I didn’t know what the right answer was. So I just let him.

And for the next half hour, he moved through the kitchen with a kind of quiet intensity, flipping eggs, pouring juice, acting like he wasn’t just unraveling on the inside. He laughed at something I said—not a real laugh, but it tried. His hand grazed my lower back when he passed behind me. Deliberate. Almost hesitant.

Then came the walk to the door. He held it open for me, keys in hand, that same controlled chaos still lingering behind his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said out of nowhere, eyes searching mine. “About this morning. About… all of it. I’ll make it up to you.”

I nodded, confused. He wasn’t owing me anything. There was nothing to forgive. And yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was carrying more than he let on.

Something had shifted between us, cracked open and delicate. And I didn’t know how to close it back. Or if I even wanted to.

Back at the store, the intercom buzzed. Ethan again. I snapped out of the memory and pressed the button.

“They’re doing well,” he said. “Malik caught on quick. Shawn’s observant, might need a little push, but they’ll fit in fine.”

“Thanks, Ethan,” I said. “I’ll come check in soon.”

I hung up and looked around my office.

This place—once my sanctuary, my pride—now felt like it wasn’t enough to distract me from the swirl of thoughts pressing at the edge of my mind. And yet, it was the only thing I had control over right now.

So I inhaled, squared my shoulders, and re
ached for the first file.

I could deal with the rest later.