Chapter Five - A Faulty Door
1008 Words
Michelle closed the bedroom door quietly behind her and leaned against it for a second longer than necessary.
Her heart was still racing.
She had never imagined that she would meet Jeremiah Carter again, let alone be under the same roof with him.
Well, she just had to survive this night. She told herself.
The room was warm and inviting, lit by the soft glow of a bedside lamp. A neatly made bed sat at the center, dressed in crisp white linens and a thick, plaid blanket folded at the foot. Christmas decorations were everywhere, but subtle. Fairy lights lined the dresser. A faint scent of lavender and clean cotton lingered in the air.
It didn’t feel like a guest room.
It felt… prepared.
As though someone had been expected.
Daisy's mother?
That realization unsettled her more than the storm had.
Michelle set her bag down slowly, her movements deliberate, controlled. She crossed the room and brushed her fingers along the nightstand, grounding herself in the present. You’re just staying the night, she reminded herself. Nothing more. Tomorrow, the roads will clear. This would end.
She exhaled and began to change, peeling off her cold, damp clothes and folding them neatly, as if order might quiet the chaos in her chest. When she finished, she wrapped herself in a robe she found hanging behind the bathroom door. It was soft, thick, unmistakably Jeremiah’s.
The scent of him clung to the fabric.
Clean. Familiar. Dangerous.
Her throat tightened, but she forced herself forward and stepped into the bathroom.
Steam filled the space quickly as she turned on the shower, the sound of rushing water soothing, almost hypnotic. She tested the shower door and frowned when it slid too easily on its track.
Faulty.
She nudged it closed again, firmer this time, until it stayed in place. Or so she thought.
“Good enough,” she murmured to herself.
She stepped under the spray, warmth cascading over her shoulders, loosening muscles she hadn’t realized were clenched. She closed her eyes, letting the water drown out her thoughts. Paris, the storm, Daisy, Jeremiah...
Especially Jeremiah.
Outside the bathroom, Jeremiah walked down the hallway, intending only to check that Michelle had found everything she needed. The cabin had gone quiet again, now that Daisy was finally asleep.
The kind of stillness that settled deep after chaos.
He reached the guest room door just as the bathroom light flickered faintly through the c***k beneath it.
And then...
The shower door slid open with a soft, unmistakable sound.
Michelle froze.
Cold air rushed against her skin, prickling awareness down her spine. She turned instinctively, and met Jeremiah’s gaze through the steam.
Time stopped.
Jeremiah stopped mid-step, his breath catching sharply in his chest. His eyes widened, not with intent, not with hunger, but with pure, stunned disbelief.
“Michelle...” he started, then stopped himself.
She stood there, framed by mist and falling water, but unmistakably naked, enough to make the moment painfully awkward and a bit intimate. Her cheeks burned as heat rushed to her face.
“I...” she gasped, scrambling backward as she yanked the robe from where she had hung it, and wound it tight around herself. “The door... it wouldn’t...”
“I didn’t mean to...” Jeremiah said at the same time, but not making any move to turn away, his jaw clenched, one hand braced against the doorframe as if to steady himself.
Silence crashed between them.
The kind that screamed.
“I thought it was locked,” Michelle finished weakly, mortification flooding her.
“Yeah, found out it was faulty this morning,” he said, his voice rough. His eyes remained fixed firmly on her. “I’m sorry.”
"Why are you still staring, though?" she snapped, her voice pitching higher.
"I said I was sorry," he reiterated, his gaze not wavering an inch. "It's not like I haven't seen it before..."
Smack!
Before he could finish the sentence, a hot slap landed across his face. Jeremiah’s head snapped to the side.
"It's been ten years, i***t," she spat, her face burning. "You can't compare what you saw then to what you're seeing now."
Then she reached for the shower door and shoved it shut. The click of the latch settling into place echoed too loudly in the small bathroom. Behind the glass, her hands shook despite herself.
Outside the door, Jeremiah didn't move. The sting on his cheek was nothing compared to the sudden, sharp realization of the decade she’d just thrown in his face.
“Michelle,” he started, his voice dropping an octave, losing its defensive edge. “I'm really sorry...”
“Just leave, Jeremiah,” came her muffled voice from behind the glass. It wasn’t angry anymore. It sounded small. “Please. Just go.”
He stood there for a beat longer, his hand hovering near the glass as if he could wipe away the fog and the ten years of distance between them with one swipe. But he knew better.
He stepped away without another word, the sound of his retreating footsteps echoing as he walked away.
Michelle leaned her forehead against the cool glass of the shower door, eyes squeezed shut.
Get it together.
But her body refused to listen.
Her pulse raced. Her skin tingled. Ten years, and one accidental moment was enough to remind her how fragile her control really was.
How consumed she was by her anger towards him.
Outside, Jeremiah stopped at the end of the hallway, exhaling sharply.
He closed his eyes.
That should not have affected him the way it did.
And yet, it had.
That's why he kept staring instead of looking away.
Because seeing Michelle, unexpected, real, vulnerable, had undone something he’d spent a decade carefully burying. He clenched his fists, grounding himself in one truth: she was here for the night.
Control your emotions.
In the guest bathroom, Michelle turned the water off and wrapped the robe tighter around herself.
Tomorrow, she told herself again.
Tomorrow, this would end.
- Writer
