Page 22

INTENTIONS DON’T MATTER

STELLA

Maple is barking at a sock.

Not chewing it. Not tearing it apart. Just… barking. Like it’s personally offended her, and she’s demanding a formal apology.

Lilly is beside her on the living room floor, giggling so hard she snorts every few seconds. “She’s so smart,” she says, holding out a treat like she’s training a tiny wolf.

“She’s something, alright,” I mutter, watching as Maple pounces dramatically and slides into the couch.

Luke, lounging on the rug beside them, lets out a breathy laugh as Maple’s paw clips his shin. “Think she’ll grow out of this feral phase?”

“Maybe by the time she’s ten,” I say, trying not to smile.

He grins, and the worst part is, it’s easy. Natural. Like he belongs here.

“Okay, okay,” Lilly says, holding up a piece of kibble. “Maple, sit!”

To everyone’s surprise, the dog sits. Crooked and wobbly, but it counts.

“YES!” Lilly cheers, flinging her arms around the puppy, who immediately responds by licking her entire face.

I lean back on the couch, wineglass in hand, and take it all in. The soft lighting. Luke’s laugh. Maple’s tail thumping against the floor. It’s stupidly perfect. And I hate how good it feels.

Harper passes through on her way to wrangle Lilly to bed, pausing long enough to catch Luke giving Lilly a high-five.

She looks at me and raises a single brow, then smirks and keeps walking.

I roll my eyes and take another sip of wine, pretending her approval doesn’t settle somewhere deep in my chest.

Later, after Lilly’s in bed and the house is quiet, I find Luke in the kitchen refilling Maple’s water bowl.

“Thanks for staying,” I say.

“Didn’t want to miss the dog genius show.”

His fingers brush mine when he hands me the bowl. I set it down carefully, hoping he doesn’t notice the way my breath catches.

“Want to stay a bit longer?” I ask, eyes fixed on the bowl.

His brow lifts, playful. “Is that an invitation?”

I shrug. “More like a suggestion.”

He steps in close, heat radiating from his chest, voice low. “I like your suggestions.”

My fingers find the hem of his shirt, and I tug gently. “Then follow me.”

We move quietly past the sleeping puppy and down the hall. I don’t look back.

I already know he’s behind me.

I leave the bedroom light off and head for the ensuite, the glow from the hallway barely illuminating the space. Luke follows without a word, his footsteps soft behind me. I flip on the bathroom light and glance over my shoulder, half expecting him to second-guess this.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he leans against the doorframe, eyes steady on mine, then slowly steps inside and closes the door behind him. We’re surrounded by the soft hum of the fan and the faint scent of lavender soap.

“Wasn’t expecting late night sexy time with your sister and niece asleep down the hall.” His smirk is sexy and heat radiates from his eyes as they bore into me.

I reach into the shower and turn the water on full blast, allowing it to warm up.

“Well, you love surprises don’t you?” I ask. Truth is, this feels a little brazen for me, but watching him interact with Lilly and Maple tonight—well, it did something to me. I’m not ready for him to leave, hence the shower; it’ll drown out any noises we make.

I reach for the hem of my shirt, but he gets there first, fingers brushing mine as he lifts it up and over my head. There’s nothing rushed about it—no frantic tugging or clumsy eagerness. It’s reverent. Careful. Like I’m something worth unwrapping.

“You always make this feel bigger than it is,” I whisper, unsure why I say it. Maybe I want to break the tension. Maybe I want him to laugh.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he runs his hand along my waist and murmurs, “Maybe that’s because it is.”

I press my mouth to his before he can say anything else.

The kiss is slow—molten, deep, the kind that makes my knees feel weak in a way that has nothing to do with lust and everything to do with the fact that he looks at me like I’m more than the moment.

His hands explore my sides, fingers dragging along my ribs like he’s memorizing me. I slide mine under his shirt, palms against his back, pulling him closer until there’s not an inch of space left between us.

We undress quietly, piece by piece. Not to seduce—but to connect.

Luke lifts me onto the vanity, the cool edge of the counter grounding me for a moment. His mouth grazes my collarbone, then lower. My breath catches.

I clutch the edge of the counter as my head falls back, every nerve ending lit up.

His name escapes my lips in a soft, whispered plea. And when he looks up at me, his eyes are dark and warm and a little bit in awe.

“Come here,” I murmur.

And he does.

We don’t rush it. There’s no need. Every movement is deliberate, every kiss a question I don’t quite know how to answer.

And maybe I don’t need to.

Because for right now, in this sliver of time, I stop thinking altogether.

When we’re done, we linger—bodies still tangled, breath still uneven. He wraps his arms around me from behind, chin resting on my shoulder as we watch our reflections in the fogged-up mirror.

I don’t say anything.

Neither does he.

But the silence is warm.

And maybe, just maybe, it feels a little bit like home.

When he starts peppering kisses on my shoulder, I feel that familiar need bloom low in my core. I leave the shower running, but lead him to my bed between sweet, stolen kisses.

We slip into my bed like it’s second nature, skin still warm from the shower we never quite finished.

Luke lies on his back, one hand behind his head, the other still tangled with mine beneath the covers. His body radiates heat and comfort. Familiarity.

I rest my cheek against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

We don’t talk for a while. We don’t need to.

But then his fingers trace lazy lines along my arm, and his voice breaks the quiet.

“This,” he murmurs, “is starting to feel like a thing.”

I smile against his skin. “A thing?”

“Yeah. You, me. Hanging out with no plan. Lilly bossing us around like a tiny coach. Your sister acting like me being here is nothing new. It’s… I don’t know.” He pauses. “It’s good.”

I swallow. The sheets are suddenly too warm. My throat, too tight.

Luke shifts slightly, tilting his head to look at me. “I’m not saying we need to define anything right now. But down the line… I could see this being something.”

Something.

A word that shouldn’t make my chest clench. But it does.

“Stella?” he asks, voice soft. “You still with me?”

I nod. Barely.

Because I am with him. Right now. In this moment.

But it’s the future part—the “down the line” part—that makes my skin prickle with warning. That has me already pulling back in the places he can’t see.

I press a kiss to his shoulder and whisper, “Go to sleep, Professor Meatball.”

He chuckles. “Trouble.”

But the warmth in my chest is already cooling.

Because I know myself.

And wanting something this badly?

It’s always been the beginning of the end.

It’s still dark when I wake.

The room is quiet— too quiet—and for a moment, I don’t remember why my chest feels so tight.

Then I hear it. Luke’s slow, even breathing beside me. His arm draped over my waist. The soft, steady rhythm of something that feels like comfort.

And that’s what does it.

I slip out of bed slowly, quietly, grabbing the sweatshirt draped over the chair and tiptoeing into the bathroom. I flick on the light and stare at myself in the mirror, heart thudding.

What am I doing?

He talked about the future. About this being something. And I didn’t stop him.

I let him stay. I let him in. And now there’s a dog in the crate in the living room who follows me around like I hung the moon and a man asleep in my bed who just casually spoke about the future like it’s something we might actually have.

My stomach twists.

This was supposed to be temporary. Fun and fleeting. A non-thing that never got too close.

But here I am, brushing my fingers over the bathroom counter where his shirt sits in a heap. He doesn’t live here. It shouldn’t feel like he does. I glance around wearily, like I’m about to spot a toothbrush that doesn’t belong to me.

But I won’t.

That would never happen.

I let it all happen—the dog, the dinners, the way he looks at me like I’m something worth keeping.

And now?

I feel like I’m drowning in the warmth of it.

I walk back into the bedroom and stand at the edge of the bed, heart hammering.

“Luke,” I whisper, nudging his shoulder gently.

He stirs, blinking slowly. “Hmm?”

“You should go.”

That gets his attention. He sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, brows knitting together. “What?”

“You weren’t going to stay the night. That wasn’t the plan.”

He sits up straighter, confusion flickering across his face. “I didn’t realize we had a plan.”

His voice is still husky with sleep, a little confused… and a little hurt.

“This—” I gesture to the room, to the bed, to everything. “This is getting too… much.”

He watches me for a beat, then swings his legs over the side of the bed. “Are you kicking me out or panicking?”

I flinch. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make it sound like I’m irrational.”

“I’m not,” he says, voice firm. “I’m just…Stella, we had a good night. That’s not a crime.”

“Exactly,” I snap, stepping back. “It was too good.”

He rises slowly, like he’s afraid one wrong move might shatter the whole room. “You’re scared.”

I cross my arms. “I’m realistic.”

He scoffs, eyes shadowed in the dark. “No. You’re scared. And you’re pushing me away before I have the chance to disappoint you.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” he says, voice lower now, almost resigned. “Because you’re not giving me a choice. You’re making it for both of us.” He yanks pants up over his hips as I hand him his shirt.

“Maybe that’s because I’ve seen how this ends. You say you want me, but Claire’s still circling like she’s waiting to reclaim what’s hers,” I snap.

Luke blinks, stunned. “Claire?”

“She’s at your gym, talking expansion and dinner meetings. Don’t tell me she’s not still part of the picture.”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Claire’s not part of this. She’s pushing, yeah, but I’ve told her no. I’ve told you…”

“Then why is she still around?” I ask, my voice rising before I can stop it. “Why is she always there?”

His jaw tightens. “Because she doesn’t like hearing no. But I’m not the one keeping her around. Don’t confuse her persistence with my intentions.”

“Intentions don’t matter when history is working overtime to remind me where I stand,” I say, my voice brittle.

“You’re not fighting for this,” he says, shaking his head. “You’re just looking for an excuse to leave.”

I feel the panic rising in my throat. The only thing I can reach for is distance. “You’re just not who I thought I’d end up with.”

The moment the words are out, I want to pull them back.

His face goes still. Cold.

“Wow.” He laughs once, bitter. “That’s brutal.”

“I didn’t mean…”

“Yeah, you did.” He pulls his shirt over his head, jaw tight. “You say you don’t do serious. You say you’re protecting yourself. But what you’re actually doing is running. Again. And not even giving us a chance.”

I say nothing.

Because he’s right.

Because I don’t know how to fix it.

He grabs his keys from the nightstand and moves toward the door. “I hope you figure out what you actually want, Stella. Because I already know what I want.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

No door slam. No grand exit.

Just silence.

I follow behind as I hear the front door close quietly, the weight of what just happened settling like a fog and making my chest feel heavy.

Maple snorts and sighs from her crate, like she feels it too.

I sink to the floor and unlatch the door. She crawls into my lap without hesitation, curling against me like she’s known this ache all along.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, threading my fingers through her fur.

The tears come slowly, but they come.

Because for the first time in years, I let someone in.

And now, I’ve sent him away.

I carry Maple to the couch, not bothering to turn on the lights. She settles into my lap instantly, warm and soft and still wagging her tail like everything is fine.

I press my face to her fur.

“I did the right thing,” I whisper.

Didn’t I?

It was too soon.

Too easy.

Too much.

That’s what I keep telling myself.

But this quiet?

It feels different.

It doesn’t feel like protection. Self-preservation. Safety.

It just feels… hollow.

Maple sighs and noses under my arm, her tiny body curling tighter against mine like she knows I need the comfort more than she does.

“I couldn’t let it get serious,” I murmur. “That’s not who I am.”

Except it already was serious.

I tip my head back against the couch, eyes burning.

I can’t blame my dad this time.

Can’t blame bad timing.

Can’t blame fate or fear or expectations.

Because this time?

This time, there’s no one to blame but me.