Page 37 of More than Fiction (Misty Springs #1)

Corbin

“I had no clue how to work that thing,” Sophia admitted as I loaded my espresso machine.

I smirked as I locked the portafilter into place, pressed a button, and the machine let out a familiar hum. A rich, slow, and syrupy shot of espresso began to pour.

“It’s not as good as Lana’s, but it’ll wake you up.” I handed her the tiny cup of caffeine as my mind whirled.

There was too much unsaid between us, and figuring out where to start felt impossible.

She took a sip, her eyes meeting mine over the rim. When she licked the foam from her top lip, I had to glance away before I did something reckless—like kiss her right there in my kitchen.

I needed to keep my head straight. But with her this close, with silence stretching between us, pulling taut—it was getting harder to separate what I wanted to do and say from all the things I shouldn’t.

She set the cup down and rubbed her arms, my loose hanging shirt doing little to keep her warm in my cold apartment.

“Give me ten minutes,” I said, already texting. “I’ll have something here before your coffee’s cold.”

I messaged Eddie—he was used to my last-minute asks—and told him to grab a few options: pants, a couple of soft tops, maybe even a hoodie, and some sort of shoe—figuring she wasn’t planning on squeezing back into the heels she immediately ripped off last night. I told him to cover the size range.

“You just have a guy who buys clothes for you on demand?” Sophia asked, one brow raised as she wrapped her hands around her coffee cup .

“I have a lot of people who do things for me on demand.”

She didn’t say anything to that—just watched me like she was trying to figure out what world she just stepped into.

I cleared my throat and nodded toward the couch. “Should we…”

“Yeah, we should talk.”

I waited until she got comfortable on one end before grabbing the throw draped across the back and settling it over her legs.

More for my sake than hers—her bare legs were a distraction I knew I couldn’t ignore for long.

“Thanks,” she murmured, folding it closer around herself.

We sat on the couch, side by side, silently sipping our coffee. The smooth leather beneath me felt stiff and unfamiliar, as though it resented being used.

I stole a glance at her, her eyes fixed on some distant point across the room.

She was not prying, not pushing, just existing here with me, calm and beautiful, her presence like a sentry protecting my space.

In a life filled with noise and complications, her quiet companionship felt like the closest thing to peace I’d known in a long time.

Before I could decide where to start, my phone buzzed on my lap.

I pocketed the phone as Sophia looked at me.

I gave her a soft smile. “Clothes are downstairs when you want them.”

She nodded but didn’t move, her gaze still fixed on me.

I took a breath.

“Listen, about last night,” I began, but the words faltered, stuck somewhere between my chest and throat.

I couldn’t shake the image of Buzz’s face, the lone tear trailing down his cheek. It cracked something inside me, a fault line I’d spent years ignoring. Suddenly, I felt it—the exhaustion, the rawness.

The dam I’d built, the one that kept it all locked away—grief, anger, regret—was starting to break. Despite years of shoving these feelings into the darkest corners of my mind, they came surging back with the force of a raging river .

Sophia touched my arm, and I looked into her eyes to see the careful emotion and empathy inside the deep blue well of her irises.

The dam broke.

I unleashed everything I held inside, the bright and happy, and the dark and twisted pieces of me. I recalled my trip to Italy with my mother back to her small village—with giant green hills and tiny cottages straight from a storybook.

I shared how hard it was the day she chose to leave my father and me, but also the combination of relief and guilt I felt at her taking the late-night arguments and crashing fights with her.

I unleashed the dark times spent with my father after my mother left—then came the glimmers of light that Gram carried.

First, there were the "sleepovers" with Gram, Buzz, and Louise that stretched into weeks.

Then came the quiet migration—one drawer, one backpack, one box at a time.

Until one day, I simply didn’t go back home.

I told her about my career and my uphill battle to prove myself. The wars I waged against viewpoints of nepotism because of who my grandfather was, or judgment because of my father.

My warred past, my tumultuous present, and my uncertain future were splayed out before her like an open wound.

When I was done, she held every piece of me—a colorful array of fucked-up strands to weave the complete tapestry of my fucked-up life.

When she reached up to touch my face, I flinched—startled, not realizing she was wiping away tears. Hell, I didn’t even know I had tears to wipe away.

I leaned back against the couch, letting my head sink into the plush cushion, bracing for what I thought would come next. Any second now, she’d get up, make some excuse, and tuck and run.

Who could blame her? She didn’t sign up for this. She didn’t sign up for me.

She’d been duped into coming to the city, tricked into this mess, and now she was tangled in someone else’s wreckage. But instead of pulling away, she nestled her head against my chest, her warmth seeping into me like the coffee in my veins.

“You know,” she began, her voice soft but steady, “it’s not the tribulations in life that define you. It’s how you continue to live your life in spite of them. You’ve carried more than your share of pain, but it hasn’t consumed you. That says something, doesn’t it?”

Her voice was a sweet relief, soothing the raw edges of my soul. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, pulling her just a little closer.

It felt… right.

She was warm and soft, and for a fleeting moment, it felt like she belonged here with me.

I wanted to say more, to find the right words to capture how she made me feel. But nothing came out. Nothing could convey the complicated feelings I had for Sophia, feelings I’d never experienced before with anyone.

The weight of a sleepless night and everything I’d just unpacked pressed down on me. My vision blurred, and darkness tugged at the edges.

“I’m glad you’re here,” I managed, my voice strained.

The words hung in the air for only a moment before exhaustion pulled me under.