Chapter Four – New Skin, Same Heart
1359 Words
Emery stood in the middle of what could only be described as a styling war zone.
Clothes were strewn over velvet benches. Designer shoes lined up like soldiers along the far wall. Jewelry sparkled under carefully directed lights. And in the center of it all stood Julian—her new stylist—hands on his hips, eyes narrowed in concentration as he circled her like a sculptor sizing up marble.
“You have the frame for soft glam,” he mused. “Something that whispers elegance but says ‘I’m not afraid of a little edge.’ And your skin? Glowing. We’re not covering that up. We’re enhancing.”
Emery tried not to look horrified at the price tags she glimpsed, or how she still wore the same old leggings she’d put on when Cal dragged her out of her hometown.
Julian turned, arms crossed, considering her again.
“Also,” he added casually, “your chemistry with Cal is palpable.”
That caught her entirely off guard.
“I—what?” she asked, blinking.
He waved a manicured hand. “I’m not trying to overstep, honey, but I’ve been doing this a long time. I’ve worked with actors, producers, directors. I know when something’s just friendly banter and when it’s… simmering.”
She laughed nervously, brushing hair behind her ear. “There’s nothing like that. Cal is… well, he’s Cal. My dad’s friend. Practically a myth from my childhood. He’s just being kind, helping me get back on my feet.”
Julian gave her a look that said sure, if you say so, but he didn’t press. Instead, he picked up a fitted blazer in soft dove gray and handed it to her.
“Change into this and the black trousers on the rack,” he said, moving on. “Let’s see if the outside can start matching the woman I already see inside.”
Emery swallowed, stepping behind the privacy screen. As she peeled off her old clothes and slipped into the pieces Julian chose, something in her shifted. This was happening. She was shedding the past—not just the heartbreak or the lost plans, but the version of herself who never dared to dream bigger.
And maybe, just maybe, that new version wouldn’t laugh off the idea of Cal quite so easily.
Later that evening, the buzz from her transformation had faded into a soft hum. Emery wandered out onto the balcony that overlooked the coastline, the sky painted in deep purples and bruised oranges as the sun dipped low over the water.
She had changed back into something more comfortable—an oversized sweater and leggings—but still felt different. Like her skin fit her better somehow.
The soft sliding of glass behind her made her glance back. Cal stepped onto the balcony, barefoot and holding two steaming mugs.
“Chamomile,” he said, offering one. “Julian said you’d probably be wired from the whole makeover whirlwind.”
She took it, fingers brushing his. “Thanks.”
They stood in silence, the kind that didn’t feel awkward or heavy. Just easy. Cal leaned against the railing, the breeze tousling his dark hair, the outline of his sharp profile catching the last kiss of sunlight.
He looked like a painting.
“So,” he said after a moment, “how does it feel?”
She blinked at him. “What?”
“The new look. The change. You.”
She wrapped both hands around her mug and let out a soft breath. “Strange… but good. I feel more like myself than I expected.”
His gaze drifted to her. “You seemed like yourself the minute you stopped hiding.”
Her heart did a small, traitorous flip. “That obvious, huh?”
He smiled, the corner of his mouth quirking. “Em, I’ve known you since you had braces and wore pink sparkly sneakers. You’re not new to me.”
She laughed quietly, shaking her head. “Those were limited edition.”
“You were a menace,” he teased, then added more softly, “but even then, you had something. You saw the world differently. And now? I think it’s time the world sees you.”
The weight of his words settled over her like a warm blanket.
She leaned her head against his shoulder, and to her surprise, he let it stay there. His warmth was grounding. Comforting. And beneath it, something new—something alive—buzzed quietly between them.
Not desire. Not yet.
Just connection.
Something real.
“Thanks, Cal,” she whispered.
“For what?”
“For giving me a reason to start.”
His arm slid around her waist, drawing her gently closer. “You don’t need a reason, Emery. You just need to decide it’s your time.”
And for the first time in a long time, she truly believed it might be.
Later that night, Emery couldn’t sleep.
The excitement. The nerves. The quiet sense that her life had already started shifting beneath her feet. She wandered downstairs, barefoot and in one of Cal’s borrowed hoodies—she’d pulled it from a laundry pile he hadn’t folded, and it smelled like him. Clean, woodsy, expensive.
The kitchen was dimly lit with soft golden light spilling from under the cabinets. She poured herself a glass of water and leaned against the counter, staring out into the dark, trying to calm the storm still rolling quietly inside her.
“You always walk this quietly?” Cal’s voice came from behind her, low and smooth.
She jumped, spilling water onto her hand.
“I—God. You scared me.”
“Didn’t mean to.” He padded in barefoot, wearing black sweats and a grey t-shirt. He looked unfairly good for someone who should also be asleep.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted.
“Same.”
He walked past her and pulled open the fridge. The quiet buzz of it hummed between them. “Wine? Tea?” he asked.
She hesitated. “Tea.”
He raised a brow. “Not a G&T?”
She smiled. “Not at this hour.”
He started prepping their drinks with the casual confidence of someone who lived alone but still liked things done right. When he handed her the tea, their fingers brushed again—brief, electric.
Emery sipped in silence for a moment, then dared a glance at him. “What do people usually expect when you invite them here?”
Cal leaned against the opposite counter, arms crossed, studying her. “Depends on the people. Some want a favor. Some want a story to tell.”
“And me?”
His gaze didn’t waver. “You’re the only one who didn’t ask for anything.”
Her chest tightened. “I didn’t want to be a bother.”
“You couldn’t bother me if you tried.”
The words were simple. But the way he said them? Steady. Warm. They sunk into her ribs like an anchor.
Her voice was soft. “I think I’m still getting used to this version of you.”
Cal pushed off the counter and stepped closer, not touching her—just close enough that she could smell the warmth of him and feel the heat radiating off his body.
“I’m still me,” he said. “I just want you to see it without the screen in between.”
He was close enough now that her back touched the counter.
Her pulse jumped.
“Cal,” she said, barely above a whisper.
“Yeah?”
“I don’t know what this is.”
“I do,” he murmured, leaning just a little closer. “But I won’t push.”
His hand brushed a stray hair behind her ear. A touch so gentle it left her breathless.
“I’m not going anywhere, Emery. You’re safe here. Even from me.”
And just like that, he stepped back, taking the heat with him, his restraint a louder declaration than any kiss.
She stood frozen, tea forgotten, heart pounding.
And maybe, just maybe, falling harder than she wanted to admit.
- Writer
