Not My Type, But My Love

Chapter Fourteen

The city felt louder than I remembered. Maybe it was the contrast—after the quiet, intimate space of the cabin, the hush of the falling snow and the soft crackle of the fire, everything here seemed sharper, faster, and more demanding. But even as the world moved around me, I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Atlas.

The way his eyes had burned into me that night, the way he touched me with that same intensity, and how his kisses lingered in my mind long after I left the cabin. He had taken something from me, something I hadn’t even known I was ready to give. And yet, there was a peace in it too, an understanding that neither of us were ready to walk away.

The cabin, with all its warmth and quiet, felt like a dream now that I was back in my apartment, surrounded by the dull hum of the city. I hadn’t even unpacked my bag. It still sat by the door, untouched. There was something in me that didn’t want to return to reality—not yet, anyway.

A knock on the door broke me from my thoughts.

I opened it to find a delivery guy holding a small, white bag with a navy ribbon.

“Delivery for Anika,” he said, smiling politely.

My heart skipped. I took the bag from him, already guessing who it was from.

The bag had the unmistakable weight of something thoughtful, but simple. Inside was a small box, again tied with the navy ribbon I’d come to recognize. There was a note on top, written in his familiar handwriting. It was short, but it sent warmth straight through me:

Come over tonight.

I smiled to myself, my fingers tracing the neat letters. It wasn’t a question; it wasn’t an invitation. It was just come. It felt like a promise, an unspoken one.

I didn’t need to think twice.

I quickly made myself presentable—dressing more casually than I had in the past, but I still felt a flutter in my chest as I prepared to meet him. This thing between us—it wasn’t defined yet, but it was real. It had been real the moment I had stepped into that cabin with him, the moment our lips had met, and every second after that.

The drive to his place seemed faster than usual. Maybe it was because I couldn’t stop replaying every touch, every kiss we’d shared. It was all still so fresh, so new. I wasn’t sure what I was walking into tonight, but a part of me was just happy it was him waiting for me.

When I stepped out of the elevator and into his penthouse, the familiar quiet took over again. His space felt like it was made for moments just like this. Intimate, warm, full of soft lighting and sprawling views of the city below. He was already there, waiting by the kitchen island, the sound of jazz music low in the background. He was dressed casually, wearing a well-worn T-shirt and comfortable jeans, but even then, his presence commanded the room.

“Hi,” I said, my voice softer than usual.

His lips curved into a smile that sent a rush of warmth through me. “Hi.”

The way he said it—it was so easy, like we had been doing this for months, not just a few days. My heart fluttered.

“I thought you might want a quiet night,” he said, taking a step toward me, “but that’s up to you.”

There was something in his voice—a hesitation, almost like he wasn’t sure if I was still adjusting to whatever this was between us. As if he needed reassurance.

I stepped into his space, taking a deep breath of the familiar scent of him—leather, a bit of sandalwood, something expensive and real.

“I think I’d like that,” I said, my voice lighter than I felt. I knew what he meant. We were still figuring this out—this thing between us. The first night had been intense, overwhelming in the best ways, but the question now was: What did this mean when we were both back in the real world? Could we make it work?

“Good,” he said, his smile widening. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers grazing my skin just enough to make my breath hitch. His touch felt like an anchor, grounding me.

We shared a bottle of wine as we sat on the couch, talking about everything and nothing at all. The topics jumped from the mundane to the serious, the way they always did when we were together. His eyes never left mine, and there was a warmth between us now that hadn’t been there before.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” he said quietly, pouring us both another glass. “About last weekend.”

“Me too,” I admitted, my heart suddenly racing. “It was... a lot.”

He raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. “A lot in a good way, I hope?”

I smiled, a nervous laugh escaping me. “Yeah. Definitely in a good way.”

His expression softened, the teasing edge to his smile fading. “I’m not used to this,” he said, his voice low, almost serious. “I don’t usually—” He paused, clearly trying to choose his words. “I don’t usually do relationships.”

My chest tightened slightly. He was telling me more than I had expected. For all his confidence, Atlas wasn’t immune to vulnerability. The thought made something inside me flutter, the kind of flutter that told me he was already opening up to me in ways he hadn’t with anyone else. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to fully process that just yet, but I appreciated it.

“I don’t usually either,” I confessed, looking down at my glass. “But this feels... different. I can’t really explain it.”

He leaned forward, his eyes fixed on me with that intensity that always made my heart race. “You’re not scared?”

I swallowed, suddenly feeling the weight of his question. “I’m scared of a lot of things. But I’m not scared of this. Not you.”

His lips curved into a slow smile. “Good.”

We stayed like that for a while, the silence comfortable, filled with a hundred things unsaid. He reached for my hand, gently threading his fingers through mine. For a moment, we didn’t need to speak. The connection between us was enough.

Later, after the wine had been finished and the music had faded into the background, I found myself lying beside him on the couch, his arm wrapped around my shoulders. We weren’t rushing anything, not tonight. It was still new, and there was a quiet understanding between us that whatever happened next, we’d face it together.

“I’m glad you came over,” he said softly, kissing the top of my head.

I smiled, feeling my heart flutter again, that familiar warmth flooding my chest. “Me too. But... what happens tomorrow?”

He chuckled, running his fingers through my hair. “Tomorrow is just tomorrow. And we’ll figure it out, just like we’re figuring this out.”

I felt my chest relax at his words, at the ease in his voice. For the first time in a long while, I didn’t feel like I was rushing toward something I couldn’t understand. With Atlas, everything felt... right.