Chapter 20: No Distance
1389 Words
The door closed softly behind her.
Athena didn’t move right away.
For a moment, she simply stood there, aware of the quiet in the room—how it settled differently from the rest of the office. More contained. More deliberate. As if whatever existed inside it had been waiting long before she arrived.
Bobby wasn’t at his desk.
He was on the couch, jacket set aside, posture relaxed but not careless. One arm stretched along the backrest, his presence filling the space with an ease that felt practiced.
Or controlled.
Waiting.
He looked up when she entered, and something in his expression shifted—not surprise, not quite relief—but recognition. As if this moment had already crossed his mind more than once.
“Come here.”
His voice was low. Steady.
Not a command.
But not something she could ignore either.
Athena hesitated—just long enough to acknowledge the weight of everything that had led her here.
Then she crossed the room.
Each step measured. Careful.
As if distance still existed between them.
As if she could still choose to keep it.
She sat beside him, leaving a small space—not quite distance, but something that suggested restraint.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The silence wasn’t empty.
It carried too much for that.
“You left.”
She said it without accusation. Without softness either.
Just truth, placed between them.
“I did.”
She turned toward him slightly, her gaze steady.
“You didn’t say anything.”
A pause. Not long.
But deliberate.
“I needed to get away.”
The answer was simple.
Too simple.
“From what?”
His eyes met hers.
Unwavering.
“From this.”
The space between them.
The pull neither of them had named—but had never really resisted.
Athena held his gaze, something tightening quietly beneath her composure.
“That doesn’t explain why you didn’t say anything.”
Another pause. Quieter this time.
More personal.
“It wouldn’t have changed anything.”
Her expression shifted—just enough.
“That’s not your decision to make.”
The words landed more firmly than her tone suggested.
He didn’t react immediately. Just watched her, as if measuring how much distance she was trying to reclaim.
“How is he?”
The shift was abrupt. Intentional.
Athena stilled.
“You don’t get to ask that like nothing happened.”
“I’m asking anyway.”
A beat. “He’s fine.”
“And you?”
That one lingered. Because it wasn’t simple.
She looked away briefly, as if searching for something she could actually give him.
“It’s not simple.”
“It never was.”
She exhaled, quieter now.
“I asked for space.”
“And did you get it?”
Her lips parted slightly—but no answer came right away.
Because the truth wasn’t clean.
“I don’t know,” she admitted.
Unclear. Unfinished.
Still unfolding.
The silence returned—but this time, it felt closer.
Less guarded.
Then he moved.
Slowly, deliberately, he reached for her hand—not taking it immediately, but closing the space in a way that gave her the choice.
She could have pulled away.
She didn’t.
His fingers wrapped around hers.
Warm. Steady.
Athena felt her breath shift.
“This isn’t helping,” she said softly.
“I’m not trying to help.”
There was no apology in it.
No hesitation.
Before she could respond, he pulled her closer.
The space she had left—carefully, intentionally—disappeared.
Her hand pressed lightly against the couch, instinctive, grounding—
“Bobby—”
But the rest of it didn’t come.
Because he kissed her.
Not tentative. Not uncertain.
Certain.
And this time—
she didn’t pause. Didn’t think.
Didn’t hold herself back behind reason or restraint.
She kissed him back.
Just as certain.
Her fingers tightened slightly in his hand, the contact anchoring something deeper than the moment itself.
Everything that had stretched between them—the silence, the distance, the absence—collapsed into something immediate.
Something undeniable.
There was no space left for hesitation.
Only presence.
When they pulled apart, it wasn’t distance that returned—
just breath.
Uneven. Shared.
His gaze held hers. Steady.
Unflinching.
And she didn’t look away.
Because there was nothing left to pretend.
Nothing left to soften.
The truth had already settled between them.
Not spoken. But understood.
They didn’t move apart.
Her hand remained in his, his thumb tracing lightly against her fingers—not absent, not distracted.
Aware.
The air had shifted again.
Quieter now. Not heavy.
Just real.
“I didn’t realize I would miss you,” Bobby said, his voice lower now, stripped of its usual certainty, “until I actually did.”
Athena felt it.
Not dramatic.
Not exaggerated.
Just honest.
She studied him for a moment, as if confirming it for herself.
“I felt the same way.”
No hesitation.
No deflection.
Just truth.
His grip tightened slightly—not possessive.
Certain.
This time, when he leaned in, it wasn’t for her lips.
He pressed a kiss to her forehead.
Gentle.
Unrushed.
She closed her eyes for a brief second—not to avoid it, but to feel it.
When she opened them, he lifted her hand, brushing his lips against her knuckles.
Then kissed her again.
Slower.
Deeper.
Less urgency.
More intention.
When they parted, the space between them remained unchanged.
“I’m taking you out,” he said.
She raised an eyebrow slightly, the edge of her composure returning—but softer now.
“Are we doing that now?”
“Yes,” he said easily. “Unless you’re backing out.”
She held his gaze, studying him—not the confidence, not the ease—
but what stayed underneath it.
“Don’t you want to try?” he added.
Something shifted again.
From unspoken—to choose.
Her expression softened, just enough to reveal what she rarely allowed to surface.
“I’m afraid.”
That made him pause.
“Of what?”
She didn’t look away.
“That you’ll lose interest,” she said quietly. “When these stops being new.”
The words settled between them.
Unprotected. Honest.
He didn’t rush to answer.
Didn’t dismiss it.
Didn’t soften it. He simply looked at her.
Then—
“By now,” he said quietly, “you should know me better than that.”
No charm.
No performance.
Just truth.
She searched his face—not for reassurance—
but for something that would hold.
And she found it.
A moment passed.
Then she smiled.
Small. Certain.
“Alright.”
“Saturday.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Dinner?”
“Dinner.”
She nodded.
“Okay.”
She shifted slightly, as if to stand.
Then—
“Wait.”
His voice stopped her.
She looked at him, a faint question forming.
“You forgot something.”
A small crease touched her brow.
“I don’t think I did.”
But Bobby had already stood.
He walked to his desk, unhurried, as if this part had been decided long before she arrived.
He opened the drawer.
Reached inside.
And when he turned back—
the watch was in his hand.
The same one she had returned.
Athena stilled.
Something in her quieted deeper than before.
He walked back to her, closing the distance with quiet certainty.
“I told you,” He said, taking her wrist gently but firmly, “you were holding all of my heart.”
His fingers moved with intention as he fastened the watch back onto her wrist.
It settled there—
not temporary. Not borrowed.
“And you don’t get to return it just like that.”
The words weren’t forceful.
But they stayed.
Because he meant them.
Her breath caught—just slightly—as she looked at it.
Felt it.
Before she could respond, his hand lifted—
and he placed the cap back on her head.
Light. Familiar.
His fingers adjusted it slightly, lingering just a moment longer than necessary.
“There.”
Athena exhaled softly, something shifting into place—not resistance, not uncertainty—
but recognition.
She looked up at him.
No distance left to claim.
No reason to pretend otherwise.
And this time—
she didn’t take it off.
- Writer
