Page 14 of Ready or Not (The Nape #I)

I woke up refreshed like no other.

An itch scratched, and the air suddenly felt easier to breathe.

Any lingering weight that my ex had left behind had been lifted.

Last night with Desi was wonderful, and I couldn't stop the smile tugging at my lips as I replayed the moments.

Like a rainbow blossoming after a long storm, it erased every trace that burrowed into the corners of my mind, giving me the fresh romantic start I yearned for.

The weight I’d carried for months was no more.

Making me wonder how I had ever been content settling for less.

I had tasted what it felt like to be truly seen, truly heard, and I couldn't go back to pretending otherwise.

Now, I just hoped that Desi felt the same way.

The sound of birds chirping outside his window added a cheery soundtrack to my morning thoughts.

Sunlight streamed in through the curtains, painting soft golden patches on the hardwood floor.

I stretched lazily, savoring the warmth of his comforter for a moment longer before my hands reached the other side of the bed, hoping to find him still there.

Meeting emptiness, my smile faltered, just a notch, as my fingers brushed against the crisp sheet.

Hm.

The clock on his nightstand blinked 9:47 AM.

I sat up slowly, letting the blanket fall away as I stretched again.

Straining my ear to listen, I heard no movement.

The room still carried faint traces of him: the scent of his cologne mingling with the clean smell of freshly washed sheets.

Curiosity nudged at me as I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and stood, the wooden floor cool against my bare feet.

Had he left for an early errand?

Gym maybe?

Hm.

He went to grab?—

I paused, noticing my clothes and a couple of things neatly folded on a durango lounge chair with my bag by it. The sight made my chest tighten.

Words caught in my throat, tight and tangled like an overgrown vine. My eyes lingered too long on the perfectly arranged pile, as if studying it would unravel some hidden meaning. The air seemed to shift, just slightly replaced by something heavier, unspoken.

A note. There has to be a note.

I looked around his room for a note in hopes of making sense of his absence or the sudden ease pooling at the base of my stomach, yet found none.

Was this... purposeful?

No, that wasn’t right.

Desi wasn’t like that.

But Naomi had told me: “If a man takes the time to fold your clothes after a one-night stand, he’s trying to keep you at arm’s length.”

Her voice echoed in my mind, the way it always did when she said something observant and maddeningly correct.

I shook her words off, convinced that her jaded perspective couldn’t possibly apply to Desi.

He wasn’t like the others she’s experienced.

His kindness wasn’t a facade; he didn’t seem like the type to overthink his actions or play games.

He was too observant for this.

Too intentional.

Every move last night he made felt deliberate… So why did this feel like something entirely different?

Still, standing there in his room, surrounded by traces of him but no presence to match—it made me uneasy.

I didn’t want to overthink it, and didn't want to let Naomi’s skeptical tone claw its way into my good mood.

But something about the way my belongings were so carefully laid out whispered planning more than happenstance.

This was unknown territory for me, considering that this was my first time having a one-night stand… ever.

Maybe I was jumping to conclusions. Maybe he had something urgent that needed his attention—something he hadn’t anticipated.

The silence in the apartment felt heavier now, pressing against my chest. I passed my hand over my dress, my fingers twitching like they couldn’t decide what to do next. A dull ache bloomed at the base of my throat.

Still, the what-ifs clawed at me.

I glanced toward the window. The sunlight hadn’t shifted much, but it suddenly felt too bright, too sharp.

Was it too much to hope he’d left a small gesture, a message of reassurance?

Maybe I should call Naomi and ask her about this.

Reaching for my phone, I unlocked the screen and searched for my best friend’s name, but my thumb hesitated above the call button.

What was I even going to say? That I’d had a perfect night, woke up feeling ecstatic, and then immediately spiraled into doubt because of a neatly folded pile of clothes?

Naomi would laugh, then lecture me about overthinking.

She wouldn’t mean it unkindly, but still—it wasn’t what I needed right now.

I set the phone down on the edge of the chair and exhaled slowly.

Maybe I was overreacting. Maybe Desi was just… considerate.

Folding my clothes didn’t automatically mean he was trying to put distance between us, right? It could just as easily be him being thoughtful, making sure I didn’t wake up to a mess.

That sounded like something he’d do.

Remaking myself comfortable on the bed, I stared at the ceiling for what felt like forever, my mind twisting in circles as I tried to make sense of the quiet.

The logical part of me wanted to trust his intentions, to chalk this up to a simple morning errand or a caring gesture.

But the softer, more vulnerable side of me—the one that had experienced too many disappointments before—nudged at the unease still lingering in my chest.

Unable to stay still, I got up again, wrapping his bedsheets around me before padding out into the hallway.

The apartment was bathed in that soft morning light, every detail illuminated—his bookshelves, the art on the walls, two mismatched mugs stacked neatly by the sink.

I moved toward the kitchen, my bare feet making almost inaudible sounds against the hardwood.

My focus darted to the counter, searching for a note, a scribble—anything that might say more than this silence offered.

But there was nothing.

Just the stillness.

I chewed on my bottom lip, the consumption of uncertainty now dampening the high I woke up with.

Was I not worthy of a simple explanation? A word or two on a piece of paper?

Had I misread everything?

Was last night just that—a fleeting moment he wanted to wrap up neatly and put away?

That wasn’t Desi—not from what I knew of him so far. He had been nothing but kind, attentive even, and our connection last night wasn’t the kind you just tucked away and forgot… Was I wrong to think it meant more?

Then again... maybe I was wrong about a lot of things.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

Back inside the room again, I stared at the neatly folded pile, my fingers brushing over the fabric absentmindedly.

He folded my clothes.

The realization hit me like a drop of cold water sliding down my spine.

Desiderio folded my clothes.

That already told me more than any words could have, and I needed to accept what it meant.

It wasn’t a careless toss, an afterthought, or a rushed gesture.

It was deliberate. Thoughtful, even. But thoughtful in a way that suddenly felt distant, measured, and maybe even too polite.

It made me understand that he didn’t see me the way I had started to see him.

Last night for him was a neatly packaged and compartmentalized fleeting moment, like the clothes on his chair.

And that was okay for me. That had to be okay for me.

Despite the smile I had worn since waking up fading, despite my chest feeling tight in a way I couldn’t name, I was going to be alright because I didn’t regret a second of it.

Last night was exactly what I needed to remind me of who I was, of what I deserved.

It didn't matter if Desi didn't see things the same way.

For once, I wasn't living my life based on someone's validation.

I had already found something I didn’t realize I’d been searching for: clarity.

Letting out a sigh, I grabbed the items off the nightstand and started dressing.

Time for the fairytale to end, I suppose.