Not My Type, But My Love

Chapter Fifteen

The sun had barely risen when my phone buzzed on the bedside table, a persistent vibration that yanked me out of the peaceful sleep I’d been trying to savor. I groaned and reached for it, still tangled in the sheets of my bed. It was one of those mornings where everything felt foggy, like I was floating between the dream world and the waking one, trying to make sense of everything that had happened over the past few weeks.

It was a message from Atlas.

“What are you doing this afternoon?”

I smiled despite myself, my heart skipping a beat. Every time his name appeared on my screen, I couldn’t help but feel that same fluttering feeling that had been present from the first moment we’d shared a kiss in the cabin. There was something about him that pulled at me, something that felt unspoken, but undeniably there.

“Trying to figure out why you’re texting me at this hour.”

I hit send and snuggled deeper into my pillow, my mind replaying the days since we’d returned from the cabin. Since that night, things between us had shifted—there was no denying it. We were no longer just two people navigating the uncharted waters of early flirtation. This was something deeper. Something with weight. But at the same time, it was still new, fragile, like something I wasn’t quite sure how to handle.

My phone buzzed again. His response was immediate, which only added to the effect he had on me.

“I miss you. Thought I’d see if you wanted to grab lunch.”

The simple message was enough to send a rush of warmth through me. I had been thinking about him too. How could I not? The moments we shared—the easy banter, the subtle touches, the deep conversations that I hadn’t thought I’d find with anyone—had stayed with me. More than that, he had begun to settle into my world in ways I hadn’t expected. It felt… natural. But also terrifying in the best possible way.

“Lunch sounds perfect.”

I hit send before I could second-guess myself.

When I arrived at the restaurant, the low hum of conversations and clinking silverware almost drowned out the pounding of my pulse in my ears. But the moment I saw Atlas, standing near the window with his usual commanding presence, the world seemed to narrow. He caught my eye immediately and smiled that smile—the one that made me feel like he was seeing right through me. His lips curled with a knowing warmth, and for a second, I wasn’t sure if the rest of the room existed.

“Anika,” he greeted, his voice low and soft, just for me. “You look stunning, as always.”

The compliment hit me like it always did, an electric current through my body. But more than that, it felt genuine—like he was saying it because he meant it, not because it was expected.

“You clean up well, too,” I teased, offering him a playful smile as I slid into the booth across from him.

We spent the first few minutes in the easy kind of silence that only came when we were together. The tension between us, the unspoken feelings, didn’t need to be voiced—it was there in the way we looked at each other, in the way our hands occasionally brushed when we reached for the same thing. Each small touch spoke volumes, reminding me of how we had crossed that line in the cabin, how everything had shifted between us, and how we hadn’t looked back.

“You’ve been on my mind a lot,” he said, his eyes not leaving mine.

“I know the feeling,” I replied, my voice softer than I intended. “It’s… strange. I didn’t expect to feel this connected so quickly. To feel—” I paused, looking for the right words, the right way to articulate everything that had been swirling inside me. “I guess what I mean is, I didn’t expect to feel this with you.”

He studied me, his gaze thoughtful. “I’m not used to this either. But I can’t seem to walk away.”

Those words, so simple and raw, made my heart race. There was something about his honesty that made it impossible for me to deny what was happening between us. I had thought, going into this, that we’d be careful. That we’d navigate things slowly, trying not to rush into something we weren’t ready for. But now, sitting across from him, I wasn’t so sure I could control it anymore.

“Then don’t,” I whispered, almost surprised by the strength of my own voice. “Don’t walk away.”

He reached across the table, his fingers brushing against mine, sending that familiar spark of electricity through my body. “You sure?”

The question hung in the air, a challenge and an invitation at the same time. And I didn’t hesitate.

“I’m sure,” I said, my voice steady.

He didn’t need another prompt. He leaned forward, closing the distance between us, and kissed me gently. It wasn’t urgent or demanding—it was slow, deliberate, as if he was trying to savor the moment. And I let him, letting the kiss linger, letting the feelings we had carefully built over the past few days wash over me. It was in those moments, those quiet exchanges, that I found myself falling for him all over again.

After we pulled apart, I looked at him, my chest tight with the unspoken words hanging between us. There was so much I wanted to say, but at the same time, I wasn’t sure I was ready.

We had been dancing around this—what we were—ever since the cabin. It was more than just attraction, more than just a physical connection. It was something deeper, something neither of us had expected to find, but something we both felt.

“I think I’m falling for you,” I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them. It wasn’t planned, it wasn’t rehearsed, but it felt right. It felt true.

His gaze softened, and for a moment, I could see the vulnerability in his eyes—the one he had been hiding behind his carefully constructed mask. “I think I’m falling for you too.”

The weight of his words, the raw honesty in them, settled over me like a blanket. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy. Relationships never were. But with him, I felt like it could be. It was worth the risk.

We spent the rest of the afternoon together, talking about everything and nothing, our connection growing stronger with every word. And when the time came to say goodbye, there was no lingering hesitation, no doubt in either of us. He kissed me once more, softly, almost as if he didn’t want to break the moment.

“You’ll call me later?” he asked, a question I knew didn’t need answering.

“I will,” I promised, already anticipating the sound of his voice when I heard from him again. The connection we had built wasn’t just in our touch or the way we looked at each other—it was in the words we shared, in the quiet spaces between us that said more than anything else.

As I walked away, my heart felt fuller than it had in a long time. There were still so many uncertainties ahead of us, so many things we hadn’t figured out. But one thing was clear: we were both all in. And that was enough to make me believe that whatever came next, we would face it together.