Their familiarity grows

Author's note: when I originally started this, it ran longer than I expected, and is a very slow burn until something happens. It was intended to be a one and done story, but found a sponsor on my Patreon, so it's now an ongoing series at the time of posting this. Thank you to my subscriber for your contributions and collaborating to bring this story to life!

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Now it’s several months later, and a getting much warmer in the evenings, when her address comes up on my screen again. At this point, I was extremely familiar with that house on the quiet street, but everything feels different when the door opens.

Sofia seems run down. The messy bun I typically see her in is looser than usual, with strands falling across her face that had slipped free. It’s as if she’s been running all day and is just exhausted. The wide-necked beige top she’s wearing has slipped off one of her smooth, golden shoulders, somehow managing to give her this teasing quality. I know that’s not the vibe she’s going for, but jeez.

I can’t see the waistband of her gray sweat shorts under the hem of her shirt today, but I’ve seen those same shorts enough to know just how low they sit on her hips. There was nothing on her feet today, so they’re bare on the tile, showing off her perfectly manicured toes. There’s no makeup on today, and the faint shadows under those amber-flecked eyes show just how tired she appears.

Regardless of all that, she’s still beautiful- shit, more than beautiful for whatever reason. I think it’s because it’s the days like this that show just how real she is, and that she doesn’t need the makeup to be sexy. Even without it, her skin is perfect and rarely ever has a blemish. But the exhaustion is etched into every inch of her body, leaving her shoulders slightly slumped, like the weight of everything has gotten the better of her today.

“Hey,” she says, still managing to give me a smile even if it’s more out of courtesy than anything else. One hand swings the door open, while the other reaches for the bag. The house behind her is a lot more chill this time without the kids running around, but she still seems distracted, like her mind is a thousand miles away.

“Long day?” I ask, handing over the food.

She nods, glancing back inside. “Yeah. Carlos is out of town again,” she scoffs, sounding as tired as she looks. “Thanks for always being so fast, Jay. You’re a lifesaver.”

She’s polite, just like always, but there’s none of the genuine smile or eye contact from the last few deliveries. No tantalizing tilt of her head or opportunity to feel like I can tease her about the kids running around, or for ordering from the same restaurant nearly half the time, which, from my understanding, is because of how much her kids love the place and are not beyond throwing a fit over it.

“Well, for what it’s worth, you look good,” I say because it’s true and because I can’t help myself. “Even after a rough one and having to be supermom by yourself.”

She gets an expression that says she’s not buying it and glances down at her rumpled clothes as if she’s double-checking what she’s wearing. Pulling at the shirt where it hangs loosely over her stomach, she says, “Yeah, because I’m sure this is how every husband likes seeing his wife dress.”

When she pulls the shirt far enough that it snaps free from her fingers, she lets out an “Ugh” and glances back up to me as she takes the bag. Being as proper as ever, there’s barely any contact when she grabs it, and she backs into the house to clear the door.

“But thank you, Jay, you’re sweet. Have a good evening,” she murmurs, closing the door. I know her comment was just her being nice and acknowledging the compliment, but it doesn’t matter. I always hope those little gestures make her feel a little bit better when she’s having a rough day.

Turning to walk away, I hear the lock click. She might always leave the porch light on, but a part of me likes to think she does it as a courtesy to me, for whatever reason.

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