Chapter 15 – Private Moments
903 Words
It was nearly 10 PM when the soft knock came at Rose’s door.
She blinked at it, halfway through a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream, sitting cross-legged on the couch in her sweats. She wasn’t expecting anyone. No packages. No food delivery. Definitely not Jenny, who would’ve burst in like the apocalypse.
Another knock.
Spoon still in hand, Rose padded across the apartment and peeked through the peephole.
Adrian.
Of course.
She hesitated for a second—not because she didn’t want to see him, but because she did. A little too much. She unlocked the door anyway and pulled it open.
“Hey,” he said softly.
He was dressed down: a grey hoodie, jeans, sneakers. His hair was damp like he’d just showered, and he smelled faintly of some kind of woodsy soap. Clean. Real. Less "professional seducer," more... guy next door.
Rose blinked. “Hi. Um. Everything okay?”
He held something up between them. “You left this in the cab.”
It was her scarf. The soft wool one with the pale lavender stripes. She’d forgotten all about it.
“Oh. Right.” She reached for it. Their fingers brushed, and a little spark zipped across her skin. Rose cleared her throat. “Thanks.”
He hesitated. “I know it’s late. I can go—”
“No,” she said too quickly, then winced. “I mean. You can come in. If you want.”
Adrian smiled like he knew exactly what she meant but wasn’t going to tease her for it. “I’d like that.”
She stepped aside, letting him in. He looked around the apartment like he hadn’t seen it in the daylight, hands in his pockets, gaze flicking to the bookshelf, the half-eaten ice cream, the cozy blanket tossed over the couch.
“Nice,” he murmured.
“Thanks. It’s small. Rent is murder.”
Adrian chuckled. “Isn’t it always?”
She stood awkwardly for a beat, then motioned toward the couch. “You want to sit? I’ve got ice cream. Possibly terrible Netflix options.”
He grinned. “You had me at ice cream.”
They settled into opposite ends of the couch, the silence between them not heavy, just… cautious. Curious.
“So,” Rose said, passing him the pint and spoon, “you off-duty tonight?”
Adrian gave her a look over the spoon. “Would it ruin the vibe if I said I turned down a gig to come drop off a scarf?”
Rose blinked. “Did you?”
He didn’t answer. Just shrugged and licked the spoon in a way that should’ve been illegal.
Rose tried not to watch his mouth. “I didn’t know you had nights off.”
“I make space when it matters.”
When it matters.
She looked down at her hands. “That’s... kind of a dangerous thing to say to someone who’s trying really hard not to make things complicated.”
“I didn’t say it to make things complicated.” Adrian leaned his head back on the couch. “I said it because it’s true.”
There was a long pause. Comfortable, but charged.
“You’re not what I expected,” Rose admitted quietly.
Adrian turned his head to look at her, eyes soft. “Neither are you.”
She smiled, just a little. “You still talk in perfect lines, huh?”
He smirked. “Habit. But I mean them. Especially with you.”
There was a flicker in his eyes then—something unguarded. Gentle.
“Can I ask you something?” she said.
“Anything.”
Rose toyed with the hem of her sweater. “Is this… normal? You coming back like this? Talking like this? Or am I just a really slow client?”
He tilted his head. “You’re not a client, Rose.”
“Then what am I?”
Adrian looked at her for a long moment. Then he said, voice low and serious:
“You’re the first person in a long time who’s looked at me like I’m more than what I do.”
Rose felt that. Deep.
She didn’t know what to say, so she reached for the ice cream again, needing something to do. Adrian chuckled and nudged her foot with his. The contact was light, playful, grounding.
“You always this intense on a Monday night?” she asked.
He grinned. “Only when I’m with someone who makes me forget I’m supposed to be someone else.”
God help her—she was falling. Slowly. And terrifyingly.
Rose pulled the blanket over them both without thinking. Adrian didn’t say anything, but when she tucked her feet under his thigh, he rested his hand lightly on her ankle.
Soft. Warm. Real.
They stayed like that for a while—watching a bad movie, sharing a pint, stealing glances that said more than either of them dared to speak aloud.
By the time Adrian stood to leave, Rose felt something hollow open up in her chest.
He walked to the door, scarf draped casually around his neck now, and turned to her one last time.
“Thanks for the company,” he said. “And the ice cream.”
Rose smiled. “Thanks for the scarf.”
And then he was gone.
But his scent lingered on the blanket, and his words lingered in her head.
- Writer
