Late finish

I came home later than usual, the warehouse still clinging to my skin even after the drive. The house smelled like her — vanilla and warm food — and when I stepped inside she was already in the kitchen, hoodie on but loose, track pants low on her hips, stirring something on the stove like she’d been waiting.

She looked up and smiled, soft and a little nervous in a way I hadn’t seen before. “Hey. You’re back. I made extra if you’re hungry.”

We ate at the table again. Not rushed this time. The air between us felt different after last night’s dinner and the hallway this morning — heavier with everything that had been said and everything that hadn’t. She kept glancing at me while we ate, like she was checking I was still okay with what she’d offered.

When the plates were mostly clear she pushed hers aside, tucked one leg under her, and looked at me properly.

“So… the talk,” she said quietly. “If you still want to.”

I nodded. My chest was already tight in the best and worst way. “Yeah. I want to.”

Veronica took a breath, then reached across the table and rested her hand near mine — not quite touching, but close enough that I could feel the warmth.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” she started. “About the deposit and the second job and how hard you’re grinding just to get a little breathing room. I know what that feels like. Before streaming took off I was working two retail jobs and still barely covering rent in this city. It sucks the life out of you.”

She paused, like she was deciding how much to give me.

“My ideas aren’t magic fixes,” she continued. “But they’re things that actually worked for me. First one’s simple — you already game with your mates on Fridays, right? What if you streamed those nights? Even just starting small. People love watching groups of friends banter and play. I can help you set it up — OBS, overlays, the basics. I’ve got the gear and I know what chat responds to. You wouldn’t have to show your face if you didn’t want to. Just your voice and the gameplay. It could bring in a bit extra without another physical job destroying your back.”

She watched my reaction carefully. I was already turning it over in my head — the idea of turning something I already did for fun into money. It didn’t feel as stupid as the other ideas in my phone notebook.

“Second idea,” she said, softer now, “is bigger. I make most of my money from streaming, yeah… but not just gaming. I do ‘just chatting’ too. Sometimes more personal stuff. People tip for the real conversations, the vibe, the way I’m comfortable on camera. I’ve built a community that pays well because I’m honest about who I am and what I like. It’s… liberal, I guess. More than most people expect from the nerdy girl in the hoodie.”

She gave a small, self-conscious laugh, but she didn’t look away.

“I could help you explore something similar if you wanted. Not the same as me — whatever fits you. Voice work, gaming content, even just talking about warehouse life and the grind. There’s an audience for authentic shit. And if you ever wanted to collab… we could do it together. Split the earnings. Make it fun instead of another chore.”

The offer hung there between us. She was offering me a door into her world — the one that let her pay bills comfortably, buy new gear without stress, live with a kind of freedom I’d assumed was impossible on part-time retail. And she was offering it because she’d noticed how hard I was working and wanted to help.

Before I could answer she added, voice even quieter, “And… thank you again. For the bedroom. The bigger one. I know it was the ‘main’ room and you took the smaller one when you moved in. I needed the space for my setup — the PC, the lighting, the privacy for longer streams without worrying about disturbing a housemate. You taking me on… it gave me that. I don’t say it enough, but it matters. You make this place feel safe. Like I can actually be myself here.”

The gratitude in her voice hit me harder than the money ideas. She valued the living situation as much as I did. She saw me as someone who’d made space for her — literally and otherwise.

I swallowed. “You don’t have to thank me for that. Having you here… it’s been the best part of this place for a while now. I didn’t realise how much I needed something steady until you were around.”

Her eyes softened. She reached the rest of the way and let her fingers rest over mine this time. Warm. Small. Deliberate.

“I’ve noticed the tension too, Tom,” she said gently. “Between us. I’m not oblivious. The way you look at me sometimes when you think I’m not paying attention… and the way I’ve been letting the hoodie slip or walking out in a towel this morning. I like it. I like you noticing. I’ve been liberal with it because I wanted you to see me. The real me. Not just the baggy-clothes version.”

The admission landed like a spark on dry wood. My pulse kicked hard.

She squeezed my hand once, then let go, but the warmth stayed.

“So that’s my offer,” she finished, smiling a little shyly now. “Help with streaming if you want it. Collab ideas. Someone in your corner who actually gets the grind and has made it work a different way. And… whatever this thing between us is, we don’t have to keep pretending it isn’t there. We can figure it out together. Slow. However you need.”

The kitchen felt smaller. Warmer. Like the weeks of small moments and careful distance had finally cracked open into something real.

I looked at her — the messy bun, the oversized hoodie that still couldn’t quite hide the curves underneath, the open, hopeful expression on her face — and for the first time in a long time the future didn’t feel like just numbers and back pain and impossible deposits.

It felt like something I could actually reach for.

With her.