Chapter 26 Confession??

Chapter 26 Confession??
My stomach tightened before I even looked at the screen. Something in the air shifted — just like the shift you feel before a storm breaks.

I reached for my phone, hands suddenly colder than they should’ve been.

Before I could even open the message, the phone lit up again.

A call. My heart lurched.

The name wasn’t saved — I had deleted it — but I knew exactly who it was. The same number. The same presence. The same cold pull in my chest.

Robin looked up from his plate, eyebrows lifting. “You need to get that?”

I swallowed hard, forcing my voice to stay steady. “No. It’s… no one.”

I ignored the call and flipped my phone to silent, sliding it farther down the table as if distance alone could quiet the storm building in my chest.

Dinner was great — easy, warm, full of laughter that felt like a relief after the week I’d had. Somewhere between the stories and the quiet smiles, I found the courage to say it out loud. I told him we could try something… see where it takes us. It wasn’t a promise, just an opening. A small step toward something new, something gentle.

For a moment, Robin just looked at me — really looked — as if he needed to make sure he’d heard me right. The smile that slowly spread across his face wasn’t loud or triumphant. It was soft. Genuine.

“Yeah?” he said quietly, almost like he didn’t want to break the moment.

I nodded, feeling a strange mix of nerves and relief settle in my chest.

Since I moved to New York, I haven’t had a boyfriend. I was always afraid it would distract me from why I came here in the first place — to work, to focus, to build the life I’d dreamed of. Romance felt like a luxury I couldn’t afford, something that could pull me off track if I wasn’t careful.

His shoulders relaxed, and he let out a breath he’d clearly been holding. “I’d really like that, Emily. No pressure, no expectations… just seeing where things go.”

There was something steady in his voice — something safe. He didn’t reach for me, didn’t try to close the distance too fast. He just sat there, giving me space, giving me time, giving me the choice.

And that alone made my chest warm.

“I’m glad you said it,” he added, his tone gentle. “I’ve been wanting to ask, but I didn’t want to push you.”

I felt myself smile — a real one this time. “I appreciate that.”

He nodded, eyes soft. “We’ll take it slow. Whatever pace you need.

When Robin finally stood to go, the evening had settled into something warm and gentle. He helped me clear the dishes, thanked me again for dinner, and gave me that soft, steady smile that made everything feel… uncomplicated.

He hesitated at the door for a moment, then pulled me close. We shared a long, silent hug before either of us moved.

“I had a really good time,” he said

“Me too,” I admitted, and I meant it.

After a quick, final goodbye, he was gone. The moment the door clicked shut, the apartment felt different.
Too quiet.
Too still.

The warmth Robin brought with him slipped away like steam from a cooling cup of tea.

I leaned against the door, exhaling slowly. For a few minutes, I let myself replay the evening — the laughter, the ease, the way he looked at me like I was someone worth choosing. It felt good. It felt safe.

I couldn’t wait to tell Sarah I was finally dating someone. She’d been nudging me about it for months, insisting I needed to “live a little” instead of burying myself in work. She was going to lose her mind when she heard I’d actually given someone a chance.

I walked back to the table and picked up my phone. The screen was still dark, still silent — but the weight of it felt heavy in my hand.

Before I could even read the messages, a loud knock rattled the door. My heart jumped — too sharp, too sudden — and I set the phone down, forcing myself to breathe as I walked toward it.

When I opened the door, Marco was standing there. In a suit. Hair slightly mussed. Chest rising and falling like he’d run the whole way here.

He looked breathtaking — and completely undone.

“Marco…?” I managed, my voice barely a whisper.

He stepped inside before I could say anything else, the intensity in his eyes hitting me like a wave. He was close — too close — the kind of close that made the air feel charged, like something had been building for far too long.

“Emily,” he said, voice low, rough around the edges, as if he’d been holding something back for days.

He reached for me — not grabbing, not forcing — but with a kind of desperate urgency, like he needed to touch me, needed to make sure I was real. His hand brushed my arm, warm and trembling, and the moment our eyes met, everything in the room shifted.

The tension snapped.

He leaned in, giving me just enough time to feel the gravity of it — the heat, the longing, the storm he’d been carrying — and then his mouth was on mine.

It wasn’t gentle.
It wasn’t careful.
It was urgent, hungry, the kind of kiss that felt like it had been held back for far too long.

And for a heartbeat, the world fell away.

His hand slid to my jaw, fingers gentle but trembling, guiding me closer without trapping me. The heat of his palm contrasted with the cool air of the apartment, sending a shiver down my spine. His other hand braced against the wall beside me, keeping his body close but giving me space to move, to breathe, to choose.

The kiss deepened naturally, like we’d both stepped into the same current. His breath mingled with mine, uneven and warm, and the faint scent of his cologne — something dark and clean — wrapped around me.

And the way he exhaled against my mouth — like he’d been holding that breath since the moment he heard I wasn’t alone — made my chest tighten in a way I wasn’t prepared for.

When he finally pulled back, just an inch, his forehead rested against mine. His breath was still unsteady, his voice barely there when he whispered my name.

“I heard he was here,” he said, voice rough, breath uneven. “I heard… and I just—” He shook his head, jaw tight. “I lost it. I got in the car and drove. I didn’t think. I just… needed to see you.”

The words hung between us, heavy and unsteady, like he’d ripped them straight out of his chest before he could stop himself.

And for a moment, all I could do was stare at him.

Is this a confession?