Rafael lay on his bed, eyes shut, but sleep refused to come. The memory of Celia, her touch, her voice, the look in her eyes when he walked away, gnawed at him. He had crossed a line, teased a boundary, then backed away like a coward. But it wasn’t fear that held him back, it was a feeling he couldn’t explain.
He got his laptop out to work, trying to distract himself since he could hardly sleep at night anyway.
By morning, the house was already coming alive. He headed downstairs, the scent of fresh coffee guiding him to the dining room. There, sitting gracefully at the long table with a cup in her hand, was Celia.
She didn’t look up immediately when he entered. But when she did, she smiled in a calm distant way. He couldn’t tell if it was genuine or if it masked the sting of what had ha
