Chapter 25: Easy Days
679 Words
The days that followed did not feel new.
They felt natural.
Like something they had stepped into without needing to think too much about it—something that had been waiting, quietly, until they were ready to stop resisting it.
Most mornings began the same way.
Her phone would buzz, or sometimes she would simply hear his car outside before the message even came through.
“You’re late,” Carrero would say the moment she slipped into the passenger seat.
“I’m right on time.”
“You say that every day.”
“Because it’s true every day.”
A small grin would tug at his mouth, followed by a quiet shake of his head, and then they would drive.
There was no pressure to fill the silence. No need to entertain or perform. Some mornings they talked—about nothing, about everything. Other mornings, they didn’t.
Both felt right.
At work, they were careful.
At least, careful enough.
“Ortaliz,” he would say in passing, voice even, professional.
“Carrero,” she would reply just as composed.
But something always lingered beneath it.
A glance that lasted a second too long. A smirk that didn’t quite belong in a formal exchange. A familiarity that could not be explained by titles alone.
People noticed.
Not openly. Not in ways that could be called out.
But enough.
Lunch became a habit without either of them acknowledging when it started.
“You’re stealing me again,” she said one afternoon, already reaching for her bag before he could answer.
“I don’t steal.”
“Oh?”
“I take what’s mine.”
She gave him a look, half warning, half amusement.
“That’s a bold statement.”
“It’s an accurate one.”
She laughed, shaking her head as she followed him anyway, already knowing she would.
Evenings were easier.
There were no titles then. No need to keep distance that neither of them believed in anymore.
Just Athena and Bobby.
Sometimes at her place. Sometimes at his.
“Stay,” he would say, like it was the simplest thing in the world.
“You’re not even asking properly.”
“I don’t need to.”
“You’re impossible.”
“And yet, you’re still here.”
And she was.
More often than not.
Weekends stretched longer than they used to. Mornings slowed into something softer, quieter. Late breakfasts turned into afternoons without urgency.
“Do we have plans today?” she asked once, still half-asleep, her voice thick with sleep.
“None.”
“Good.”
He glanced at her. “Good?”
“I like this.”
There was something in the way she said it—unguarded, uncalculated—that made him pause.
He looked at her a second longer than usual before answering.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Me too.”
Christian still existed in the background of her life.
But only just.
Messages came in.
How are you?
Busy?
Take care.
She replied.
Good.
Yes.
You too.
Short. Polite. Careful.
Friendly. Safe.
The conversations never went anywhere.
And neither did she.
It wasn’t a fight. It wasn’t even a decision.
Just distance.
Growing quietly, steadily, in the spaces she no longer tried to fill.
With Bobby, everything felt light.
Easy.
There was no need to overthink. No need to question every word or action.
“You did well today,” he would say.
“So did you.”
“Don’t deflect.”
“I’m not.”
A small smile. A look that said more than either of them chose to put into words.
They understood each other in a way that made explanations unnecessary.
And maybe that was why neither of them said anything bigger.
Not yet.
Because once you say it—once you name it—it changes things.
It becomes real.
And real things have weight.
Real things ask for more.
So, they stayed where they were.
In the ease.
In the quiet certainty of something that felt right without needing definition.
Until something finally pushed against it.
- Writer
