The wrong hour
1198 Words
Ciara set her alarm for five forty-five.
She had never done that before. Not for work. Not for anything.
But as she lay in her own bed at home, staring at the ceiling in the dark, she had made a decision. She would go in early. Before the house fully woke up. Before he had any reason to be out of bed.
Get in. Clean. Get out.
Simple.
She dressed quietly, tied her hair back, and picked up her bag. She checked on her mother before she left. She was still sleeping, her breathing slow and even.
Ciara stood in the doorway for a moment just watching her, then pulled the door gently shut and headed out into the early morning.
The house was still at this hour. No footsteps. No voices. Just the occasional creak of old wood settling into itself.
She climbed the staircase slowly, her hand trailing the banister.
When she reached his door, she stopped outside and listened. The silence on the other side was complete.
Good.
She turned the handle carefully and stepped inside.
The curtains were still drawn, the room wrapped in the grey-blue light of early morning.
The bed was empty, sheets pushed back like he had left in a hurry. A half-full glass of water sat on the nightstand. His jacket from yesterday was still on the chair.
Ciara exhaled.
He wasn’t here.
She set her bag down and got to work.
She started with the nightstand, wiping it down carefully, moving the glass aside. Then the desk. Then she moved to make the bed, smoothing the sheets with quick, practiced hands, tucking the corners the way her mother had taught her.
She was reaching across the far side of the bed to straighten the pillow when her foot caught the edge of the bag she had left on the floor.
Everything tilted.
Her hand grabbed for the bedpost and missed.
She felt herself going down — then an arm caught her.
Firm. Sure. Already there.
Her back landed against a chest instead of the floor, one hand wrapped tight around her waist, pulling her upright before she had even fully registered what was happening.
She gasped.
“Careful.”
His voice was so close to her ear she felt the word before she fully heard it.
Ciara’s whole body went stiff. She straightened quickly, stepping away from him and turning around, her heart slamming against her ribs.
Killian stood there, barely dressed. Loose trousers, a shirt hanging open at the chest, his hair still damp from the shower.
He was looking at her with that same mild expression from yesterday, like catching falling girls before breakfast was something that happened to him regularly.
“I didn’t hear you,” she said, her voice coming out too fast.
“I noticed.”
He looked down at the bag on the floor, then back at her.
“You came early,” he said.
“I wanted to finish before you needed the room.”
“And yet.”
She bent down to pick up the bag, mostly just to have somewhere to look.
“I’m sorry. I’ll be out of your way in a few minutes.”
He didn’t move toward her. He just walked to his desk and sat down, opening his laptop like she hadn’t just nearly fallen flat on her face in front of him.
Ciara turned back to the bed and finished straightening the pillow. Her hands weren’t as steady as she wanted them to be.
The silence stretched.
She moved to the window and drew the curtains back, letting the morning light in. Then she picked up the glass from the nightstand to take it down to the kitchen.
“Leave it.”
She paused. “It needs to be washed—”
“I’ll finish it.”
She set it back down.
She gathered her bag and moved toward the bathroom to wipe down the surfaces. She worked quickly, keeping her focus on the task, counting the minutes.
Just a few more and she could leave.
She was wiping down the bathroom counter when his voice reached her from the other room.
“You tied your hair back today.”
She stopped.
“Yesterday it was down,” he added, like he was simply noting the weather.
Ciara stood very still for a second.
He remembered that.
She hadn’t thought about it. She had just pulled her hair back this morning without thinking, the way she always did when she was trying to be efficient. But he had noticed the difference.
He had been paying attention closely enough to notice the difference.
That unsettled her more than anything else he had done.
She stepped back into the room, keeping her voice even. “It gets in the way when I’m working.”
He glanced up from his screen briefly. “It suited you.”
She didn’t answer that.
She picked up her bag and moved toward the door.
“Ciara.”
She stopped.
She didn’t turn around this time either. Just like yesterday.
“You don’t have to come at dawn,” he said. “I don’t mind if you’re here when I wake up.”
Something about the way he said it sat in her chest in a way she didn’t like.
She didn’t answer that either.
“And Ciara.”
She closed her eyes briefly before looking back at him over her shoulder.
He was watching her, his elbow resting on the desk, completely relaxed.
“Next time you fall,” he said quietly, “I’ll catch you again.”
She held his gaze for exactly one second.
Then she walked out and pulled the door shut behind her.
She stood in the hallway, her back against the wall, the bag in her hand.
Her heart was going too fast again.
She pushed off the wall and headed downstairs.
Her mother was sitting up in bed when Ciara got home that morning, a cup of tea warming her hands.
“You’re back early,” her mother said, watching her.
“I wanted to get the upstairs done before the house woke up.”
Her mother nodded slowly. “And how is it going? Over there?”
Ciara set her bag down and reached for her own jacket.
“Fine,” she said. “It’s fine.”
Her mother studied her for a moment with the particular patience of someone who had spent years learning how to read between the lines of that word.
“Ciara,” she said softly. “That family has been good to us. We can’t afford to lose this. You understand that, don’t you?”
Ciara looked at her mother. The tiredness in her face. The worry she was trying to keep out of her voice.
“I understand,” she said.
She meant it.
The problem was that understanding something and staying unaffected by it were two very different things.
And right now, with the warmth of his arm still faintly imprinted on her waist, she wasn’t sure she was managing either.
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