The Risk of You

Chapter 3: Lines We Shouldn’t Cross

The following week moved in a blur of floor plans, mood boards, and endless client emails. I told myself that if I kept busy enough, I could keep my thoughts away from Daniel.

It worked until Wednesday night.

The client had requested last minute changes to the penthouse suite concept, and Daniel suggested we meet after hours to go over the revisions. “Less distraction,” he’d said. What he didn’t say was that being alone together would be a distraction of its own.

Still, I told myself it was fine. I could handle him.

His office was on the thirty fourth floor, with an unobstructed view of Manhattan lit up like a constellation map. The city stretched out beneath the floor to ceiling windows, a thousand stories and lives stacked on top of each other.

Daniel was leaning over his desk when I arrived, sleeves rolled to his elbows, the light catching on the faint stubble along his jaw. He glanced up. “Right on time.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” I said, setting my portfolio on the table.

“Not surprised,” he replied, his mouth curving slightly. “Impressed.”

I ignored that and pulled out the revised sketches. We worked in silence at first me laying out swatches and samples, him reviewing structural adjustments. But the air between us wasn’t still; it pulsed, like a current running just under the surface.

At one point, I reached across the table at the same time he did. My fingers brushed his. Just skin against skin, barely a second but it was enough to send a flicker of heat up my arm.

Five Years Ago Winter

I was curled up on his couch, sketchbook in my lap, while he worked at the drafting table in the corner of his loft. Snow tapped against the windows, muffling the city into quiet.

“Do you ever stop working?” I teased.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Do you?”

I smiled. “Touché.”

Later that night, we’d ordered Chinese takeout and eaten straight from the cartons, his knee pressed against mine. I remember thinking how easy it felt. How safe.

I didn’t know that kind of safety could vanish overnight.

Present Day

“You’re distracted,” Daniel said now, his pen pausing on the paper.

“I’m focused,” I countered, but even I didn’t believe it.

His gaze lingered on me, slow and deliberate. “You’re thinking about the past.”

I set down my pencil a little too hard. “We agreed to keep this professional.”

“We didn’t agree to anything,” he said quietly. “You decided.”

The air between us tightened, pulling us closer without either of us moving. For a moment, I thought no, knew he was going to close the distance. And the terrifying part was, I didn’t know if I’d stop him.

But he didn’t. He looked away first, running a hand through his hair. “We should finish the sketches.”

I nodded, grateful and disappointed all at once.

By the time we wrapped up, it was after midnight. The city outside was softer now, fewer lights, fewer sounds.

As I gathered my things, Daniel walked me to the elevator. “Amara,” he said as the doors slid open.

I looked up at him.

“I’m not the same man I was five years ago.”

I stepped inside, holding his gaze until the doors closed between us. “We’ll see.”