Chapter 59 The Jersey

Chapter 59 The Jersey
The apartment was warm, heated against the autumn chill that had settled over Paris. Seth helped her out of her coat, and hung Hallie's coat on the hook by the door—next to his, a small intimacy that made something in her chest flutter—and gestured toward the couch.
"Water? Tea? Something stronger?"
"Water's fine." Hallie settled onto the cushions, curling her feet beneath her. "I could get used to this, you know. Being pampered."
Seth's smile was soft as he disappeared into the kitchen. "That's the idea."
He returned with a glass of water and a small tray of items Hallie hadn't expected. A toothbrush, still in its packaging. Toothpaste—strawberry, her favorite, because she had mentioned once that she hated strong mint. A glass for rinsing. And slippers, fluffy and gray, clearly brand new.
"Bathrobe's in the bathroom," Seth said, setting the tray on the coffee table. "I wasn't sure what kind of pajamas you liked, so I didn't—" He shrugged, suddenly shy. "Help yourself to my shirts. Whatever's comfortable."
Hallie stared at the array of items, her throat tight with emotion. It was such a small thing, really—toothpaste and slippers and a robe. But it spoke of thoughtfulness, of attention, of someone who had considered her comfort in ways no one ever had.
"You're going to spoil me," she said.
"That's the plan."
She kissed him—soft, grateful—and disappeared into the bathroom.

The shower was heaven. She wished her apartment water heater cooperated as much as this one. Hallie lingered longer than necessary, enjoying the luxury of Seth's expensive shampoo, the faint woodsy scent that clung to her skin.
When she finally emerged, wrapped in the fluffy bathrobe, she faced the wardrobe.
Seth's clothes hung in neat rows—sweaters and button-downs and a few casual pieces. Hallie shifted through them, looking for something comfortable, something that felt like him.
Her fingers brushed against fabric that made her pause.
She pulled it out, and her breath caught.
The jersey was old—faded, soft from years of wear. Green and white, with the number seventeen on the front and SANDERS printed across the back. His high school football jersey. The one he had worn during games she had watched from the bleachers, invisible in the crowd, her heart in her throat every time he took the field.
She shouldn't. It was too intimate, too vulnerable, too much like wearing his heart on her sleeve.
She pulled it over her head.
The jersey fell past her thighs, the short sleeves too large on her thin arms. It smelled like him, and Hallie loved it. Hallie looked at herself in the mirror, at the woman wearing her boyfriend's jersey, and felt something shift in her chest.
This was who she was now. Someone who belonged.

Seth was in the kitchen when she emerged, pouring himself a glass of water. He looked up at the sound of her footsteps, and the glass slipped from his fingers.
Luckily, he caught it before it could shutter on the floor.
Hallie stood in the doorway, the jersey hanging loose on her frame, her damp hair curling around her face. She was barefoot, her legs pale against the dark fabric, her cheeks flushed with vulnerability and something else—something that looked like hope.
"Too much?" she asked, her voice small.
Seth shook his head slowly. His cheeks had turned pink—actually pink, the color spreading across his cheekbones in a way that made him look younger, softer, more human.
"No," he said. His voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. "No. I just—" He laughed, embarrassed. "I've had a thousand fantasies about you in my jersey. And seeing the real thing—" He swallowed. "It's kind of thrown me off."
Hallie's heart stuttered. "In a good way?"
"Definitely." He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving hers. "You're better than any fantasy I could ever conjure."
"I'm kind of afraid to ask what kind of fantasies you had about me in your jersey."
"Yeah." Seth reached her, his hands finding her waist. "Better you don't ask."
He kissed her—soft at first, almost reverent. His lips moved against hers with a tenderness that made her want to cry. Hallie melted into him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Seth rested his forehead against hers.
"Bed," he said. "Now."
"I take dibs on the left side."
"Not fair. That's my favorite spot."
Hallie batted her lashes, letting her lower lip jut out in an exaggerated pout. "Won't you be a gentleman and cede it to a poor damsel in distress?"
"I'm not sure that description is accurate." Seth's hands slid from her waist to her hips, pulling her closer. "You're more like the scary dark queen of the shadows. The one who can make me disappear with one snap of her fingers."
"Right." Hallie's smile turned teasing. "So, I suggest you surrender your spot willingly. Before I have to use the hard way."
She slid one finger down his bare torso—slow, deliberate, tracing the line of muscle beneath his shirt. Seth's eyes glinted, a playful smirk curving his lips.
"Mmm. Let me think about it."
He pretended to ponder, his expression exaggerated, theatrical. Then, before Hallie could react, he swept her into his arms and threw both of them onto the bed.
They landed in a tangle of limbs, Hallie on the right side, with him half-hovering over her, his weight braced on his elbows.
"Cheater," she accused.
Before he could celebrate his victory, Hallie reached for the shadows.
They rose at her command—not threatening, but insistent. They wrapped around Seth's shoulders, gentle but firm, and pushed him back against the mattress. Hallie rolled, straddling him, her hands planted on his chest.
Seth stared up at her, astonished.
Then he laughed.
"Did you just use shadow powers to win an argument about bed sides?"
"I absolutely did."
He was still laughing, but his eyes were soft, warm, full of something that made Hallie's heart ache. He didn't flinch. Didn't tense. Didn't reach for the light blade that had once been his instinctive response to shadow contact.
He just lay there, beneath her, and looked at her like she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
"You've changed," Hallie said softly.
"So have you."
"I didn't think you'd ever accept—"
"I know." His hands came up to cup her face, his thumbs tracing her cheekbones. "But I'm trying, Hallie. Every day, I'm trying. Because you're worth it. You've always been worth it."
He pulled her down and kissed her—deep, searching, pouring every emotion he couldn't put into words into the press of his lips against hers. Hallie kissed him back, her fingers tangling in his hair, her body melting against his.
The shadows receded, leaving only the two of them.
They spent the night learning each other's bodies, mapping the geography of pleasure and trust and the quiet intimacy of being truly seen. Hallie had never felt so vulnerable, so exposed, so completely and utterly safe.
When they finally slept, tangled in each other's arms, the jersey was lost somewhere on the floor.
She didn't need it anymore.

Morning arrived late, golden light streaming through the curtains, painting the room in shades of warmth. Hallie woke slowly, aware first of the weight of Seth's arm around her waist, then of the ache in muscles she hadn't known she had, then of the profound, bone-deep contentment that settled in her chest like a cat claiming a sunbeam.
"Hey." Seth's voice was rough with sleep.
"Hey yourself."
"Did we really sleep until ten?"
Hallie glanced at the clock. "We really did."
“Good, we should do it more often.”
“Deal.” Hallie pecked his lips and a new day started, feeling more like the start of a new life.

They spent the day lazing.
Breakfast was coffee and toast eaten in bed, crumbs scattered across the sheets, laughter filling the quiet spaces between words. They showered together—a practical decision, they told themselves, though it took twice as long as it should have. They walked to the supermarket hand in hand, picking out ingredients for lunch, and Seth carried the bags because he insisted.
Lunch was pasta, sauce from a jar because neither of them could cook, but it tasted like the best thing Hallie had ever eaten. They ate at the small kitchen table, knees touching, talking about nothing and everything.
In the evening, they walked to Hallie's apartment so she could pack a bag. Clothes, toiletries, the sketchbook she worked on at night. Seth waited by the door, patient, not rushing her, and when she emerged with a suitcase, he carried it down the stairs without being asked.
"Ready?" he said.
"Ready."

Monday morning arrived like a reckoning.
Hallie slipped into the studio at 7:45 AM, earlier than usual, hoping to avoid notice. But the other interns were already there—Camille with her sharp eyes, Sophie with her knowing smile, Margot with a wink that made Hallie's cheeks flush.
Madame Leclerc emerged from her office at nine o'clock, her dark eyes scanning the room with predatory precision.
"Work," she said. "On my desk. Now."
The studio erupted into motion. Interns scrambled to gather sketchbooks, pattern drafts, fabric swatches. Hallie's hands trembled as she assembled her materials, the nervous energy of the past few days crystallizing into something sharp and focused.
She had worked hard on this collection. Had poured herself into every sketch, every pattern, every choice of fabric and color and line. But was it enough? Would Madame Leclerc see the hours of labor, the sleepless nights, the pieces of Hallie's soul she had woven into each design?
Or would she see only a girl who didn't belong?
"Grey." Madame Leclerc's voice cut through her thoughts. "Your work."