Brad
It’s been two days since the kiss.
Two days since I drew the line, since I told myself I’d handled it the right way—clean, controlled, professional. Two days of convincing myself that distance would settle things. That boundaries would fix what never should have blurred in the first place.
They haven’t.
Mia hasn’t done anything wrong. That’s the problem.
She’s quieter now. More careful. She doesn’t linger in my doorway, doesn’t meet my eyes unless she has to. She’s polite in a way that feels deliberate, like she’s afraid of stepping on something fragile between us.
And every time she looks at me, I see it—the same thing I feel.
Unfinished.
I replay that moment more than I should. Not the kiss itself, but the second after. The way she froze, like she’d crossed a line she hadn’t
