Call it a night

The rest of that night had been quiet in the way things get when something important has been said out loud. We finished cleaning up, stood a little too close in the kitchen again, and when she finally said goodnight her fingers brushed my arm on the way past — not an accident this time. I lay in bed for hours replaying the way she’d looked at me when I told her about the deposit and the grind and how coming home to her made it feel less pointless. The touch on my hand. The almost-kiss that never happened. I wasn’t sure if I’d actually slept or just drifted in and out of thoughts about her wet hair in the shower and what it would feel like to pull that hoodie off her shoulder properly.

The following morning I woke up groggy, unsure if I’d slept in or if Veronica had simply got up early. The house was quiet except for the faint sound of running water. I checked my phone — later than usual. I needed the shower badly after yesterday’s shift and the restless night, so I grabbed a towel and headed down the hall.

The bathroom door was closed. Steam curled out from under it. The water was running.

She was already in there.

I stood outside for a second, towel over my shoulder, listening without meaning to. The old pipes groaned the way they always did. I could hear her moving — the soft shift of her feet on the tiles, maybe humming something under her breath. My brain, still half-asleep and full of last night, immediately supplied images I had no business entertaining: her small, curvy body under the spray, water running over the full swell of her breasts and the soft curve of her stomach, down the thick line of her thighs. The way she’d looked up at me in the kitchen with that open, caring expression while asking why I worked so hard. The hoodie slipping off her shoulder. Her fingers on the back of my hand.

I rubbed a hand over my face and leaned against the wall opposite the door, trying to think about literally anything else. The second job. The deposit. The long list of unrealistic ideas in my phone. None of it stuck. All I could think about was how much I’d liked her asking. How seen it had made me feel. How the emotional closeness from last night had somehow made the physical tension worse instead of better.

The water shut off.

I stayed where I was, not wanting to hover but also not wanting to walk away like I hadn’t been waiting. A minute later the door opened and steam billowed out around her.

Veronica stepped into the hallway in nothing but a towel.

It was wrapped high around her chest but still only just covered the essentials — the tops of her full breasts pressed against the white terrycloth, the curve of her hips and the soft swell of her arse visible where the towel ended mid-thigh. Her dark hair was wet and clinging to her neck and shoulders, skin flushed pink from the heat. She looked small and soft and completely at ease, like walking out in just a towel in front of me was the most natural thing in the world. No awkwardness. No hiding. Just her, liberal and comfortable in her own body the way she always seemed to be.

She blinked when she saw me waiting, then smiled — that same easy, crinkly-eyed smile, but warmer now. Softer. Like last night had changed something for her too.

“Oh— hey,” she said, voice still a little husky from the steam. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to take forever. I got up early and figured I’d get out of your way before you needed it.”

She didn’t pull the towel tighter or try to cover more skin. If anything, she shifted her weight and the towel slipped a fraction lower on one side, revealing the smooth line of her collarbone and the upper swell of one breast. Water droplets traced paths down her neck and disappeared beneath the terrycloth.

I kept my eyes on her face. Mostly.

“You’re good,” I managed, voice rough. “I wasn’t sure if I’d slept in or if you were up early.”

She tilted her head, studying me for a second with that same gentle curiosity from dinner. “Bit of both, maybe? I couldn’t really sleep after we talked. Kept thinking about what you said.” Her smile softened further. “Thanks for telling me, by the way. About the deposit and everything. It… it meant a lot that you opened up like that.”

The words landed warm in my chest. She meant it. And standing there in just a towel, fresh from the shower, looking up at me like she genuinely cared about the things that kept me grinding, she was making it very hard to remember all the reasons I’d been telling myself not to complicate this.

The hallway felt smaller. The steam still hung in the air between us. Her skin was warm and damp and close enough that I could smell her vanilla body wash mixed with the clean scent of her.

Neither of us moved to let the other past.