Page 39 of More than Fiction (Misty Springs #1)

Corbin

The first thing I noticed was how bright it was behind my eyelids. Strange, why weren’t my shades closed?

Then, as the light filtered through my vision, my clarity filtered through as well.

I just shared every detail of my life with Sophia, and after what felt like exorcising a demon, fell promptly asleep.

I popped my eyes open to find my chest devoid of her head.

I shot up and scanned my apartment. It was empty and quiet—a setting I was accustomed to—but instead of the comforting familiarity, it felt like a cold, hollow echo of what it had just been before I fell asleep.

Something essential was missing, or more like someone.

I stood up, stretched my aching back, and rubbed my eyes. The hospital chair and my couch weren’t exactly ideal sleeping positions for good-quality REM.

“Sophia?” I called, but there was nothing but quiet.

I darted up the stairs and gently nudged open the door to the guest room— Sophia’s room.

The bed lay empty. The bathroom door was open, and the room was dark.

A lump formed in my throat.

I pulled my phone from my pocket and opened my contact list—raking my hands across my face.

I didn’t even have her phone number.

My finger hovered over Andi’s name. Perhaps she could stop by the office and pull it from her resume .

No. Then she’d ask questions, questions I wasn’t prepared to answer. It was only a matter of time before she heard through the grapevine about the new hire I had shown around at the gala. She’d be suspicious enough.

I raced back down the stairs and paced the length of my living room, wearing a path into the plush black-and-white rug beneath my feet. I glanced down—I was still in my slacks and shirt from last night.

Maybe I should just accept it: I’d scared her off. After everything I dumped on her—years of buried trauma and a damn near breakdown—what reason did she have to stay?

It was probably for the best. We were doomed from the start. Destined to unravel before we even figured out what we were.

I quickly showered, attempting to scrubthe tension from my skin. I threwon gray sweats and a white tee before my stomach let out a loud, hollow growl, reminding me that I hadn't eaten since whatever they thought passed for food was doled out last night.

I opened a delivery app and stared at the options before abruptly closing it to return to my pacing.

When the elevator dinged, my heart lurched, and I froze mid-step—my gaze snapping to the doors.

I stood there like a loyal dog waiting for its owner to come home, hopeful and eager, every nerve alight with the hope of seeing Sophia.

Disappointment rocked me when I saw Joseph, the concierge from downstairs, holding a brown paper bag and wearing a smile. A genuine smile, nothing like the tight-lipped one he’d given me for years when I walked through the lobby.

Sophia came into view behind him, rolling a suitcase with a black shopping bag piled on top and laughing.

Tension eased from my shoulders almost immediately.

“Just set this here?” Joseph asked Sophia.

“Yes, please. Thanks, Joey,” she replied.

Joey?

“My pleasure, Ms. Carlson,” Joseph—or Joey, I guess—said with a wink and a tip of his hat before turning to me. “Mr. Buescher, enjoy your afternoon.”

He stepped into the waiting elevator and left me standing there like a confused third wheel .

“You’re awake,” Sophia said, her voice casual.

She started unpacking the brown paper bag my doorman set on the counter, pulling out a loaf of fresh bread, a couple of tomatoes, and something wrapped in butcher paper.

But I couldn’t focus on any of it.

She wore the lounge pants my driver must’ve picked out—simple black joggers that clung just enough to make my thoughts drift somewhere they shouldn’t—but it was the hoodie that caught me off guard.

My hoodie.

The one I’d hung by the door was now pulled over her head, the hem almost swallowing her hips.

The sleeves were too long, and she kept pushing them up, leaving them bunched at her forearms. Seeing her in it did something to me.

Some part of me liked the idea of her wrapped up in my clothes more than I probably should’ve.

“Yeah, sorry, I fell asleep.” I stepped toward the kitchen. “It’s strange to me. I don’t nap. Ever,” I admitted as I wiped at my tired eyes.

“Not really a nap when you didn’t sleep the night before.” She smiled, and the sight lit up my chest.

Already, the apartment felt in balance again. I felt in balance again, like when she was near me, all was right with the world.

Even if everything else in my life was fucked.

“What all do you have here?” I asked her curiously.

“Well, you have no food. And I, as a human, need food. So, I decided to make an early lunch.” She began rifling through my cabinets.

“And the suitcase?”

“Mine. I picked it up from the hotel Landon stayed at,” she said as she placed a pan on the stovetop.

“You saw Landon?” I tried and failed to hide the tension in my voice.

“No, thankfully, he had already left. I got it from the front desk. I left a note for you.” She gestured toward a sheet of paper virtually undetectable against my kitchen's countertop.

She returned to the stovetop and attempted to click on the gas burner. Her brow furrowed as the little flame evaded her.

For all I knew, that stove didn’t even work. I couldn’t think of a single time I used it .

I watched Sophia struggle and stomp her foot in frustration. I grinned at the tiny fit she was throwing, her scrunched-up nose, the little V between her eyes—reminding me of her frustrated face when she called me an asshole weeks ago when she stole my seat on the plane.

I grabbed a lighter from my console table and walked up behind her, standing close, placing my hand on her hip to still her.

She froze in place, the air around us charged instantly, thick and heavy with all the things we still weren’t saying to each other, all the things we weren’t doing to each other.

“Turn it again,” I murmured, my voice thick.

I thought it was the alcohol, the dress that made me lose my control last night—but it wasn’t.

It was her.

She was a desire and temptation—it didn’t matter if she had on a too-large hoodie or nothing at all. I wanted her with every fiber of my being.

She did as I asked, and I aimed the lighter under the burner, igniting the gas as fire encircled the coils. I stood there for a moment, wanting more, needing more.

“Thanks.” She broke that need as she moved away from me to grab the ingredients.

I released a breath and stepped back, using the counter as a barrier. I had to adjust myself before I sat down, but that was nothing new around her.

I watched her move as she sprawled strips of bacon across the pan. I studied her as she searched through the cabinets for more essential cooking items.

I offered no help. I didn’t even know I owned a pan or tongs. I just took in each sway of her hips, each bend of her waist, each toss of her hair with an avid intensity.

She adjusted a bracelet on her wrist for about the tenth time before turning her focus to me. “Are you really just going to sit there and stare at me the whole time?”

“I’m enjoying the show.” I shrugged.

She adjusted her bracelet again. It was like a tick of hers, twisting it and moving it up her wrist, to let it settle back where it was.

“Nice bracelet,” I commented .

“Oh, thanks.” She paused for a moment, focusing on slicing a tomato before continuing. “It was my mother's.”

“Where is she now?” I asked.

It occurred to me that I knew nothing about Sophia’s family. I spent the morning unloading everything about mine, and it felt a little one-sided.

“She… died,” Sophia said, then she swallowed hard, forcing down what seemed like more of a story.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It was a few years ago.” She twisted the bracelet again before returning to her task.

A look on her face indicated that it was not actually okay.

The bacon sizzled and crackled, wafting a delicious aroma. My stomach roared in response.

“And your dad?” I pried.

I just poured my guts out to this woman. She could give me a little more.

“Him too… car accident. They were both in the car.”

“Wow, that’s… I’m sorry. That had to have been difficult.” I knew what it was like to lose your parents. Though the way I saw it, both of mine chose to leave me. I couldn’t imagine losing parents who actually wanted to be in your life.

“It was.” She hesitated like she shouldn't say more, then turned to me—her face shifting, like she'd made some internal decision. “It was why I dropped out of school. I had one semester left. I just… couldn’t do it anymore. It felt like I was working toward this dream of mine, this goal. But why? What was the point? One day, you could be here, living your life, and the next…”

She pulled the bacon from the pan and set it on a paper towel, then retrieved a toaster from a bottom cabinet—another item I hadn’t realized I owned.

Sophia stared longingly at the toaster, her face appearing to recall something unseen in this apartment.

“I felt like being across the country only pulled me farther away from them. If I could be in Misty Springs, I could at least be in the same place as they used to be, feel their presence on the paths Mom and I used to walk along. Visit the movie theater Dad loved to take me to. Just existing in the spaces they did—especially our home. But I quickly realized that I could barely afford their house. All I could find with my experience was a bartending job, which led me to Boomer's. Thankfully, Cassie helped me get a job at Elijah’s. Those became all I had time for. Then, student loans came due, and I felt like I was drowning. Until… Landon.”

“Ah,” I replied with a sharp edge to my voice. It all made sense now. I wondered how someone like her could fall for someone as vile as Landon. That creep took advantage of a broken, beat-down Sophia.