Fuel First

"Well?" she said, eyebrows arching. "Aren't you going to carry me over the threshold?"

The words hung in the hallway, buoyant and teasing, and yet Roy didn't move.

Claire held her pose, one hip cocked, heel pointed, chin tipped ever so slightly up. The same stance that made Adam laugh and call her "a menace." But Roy didn't laugh. He just stared. Like a deer in headlights. Or a man discovering headlights existed in the first place.

Her smile faltered.

He should have scooped her up by now, said something clever, or at least rolled his eyes and played along. That's what a boyfriend did in the moment after the romantic question. Right?

Unless she'd overplayed it.

Maybe she'd pushed the joke too far. After all, she was engaged, and not to Roy. It was like a lightbulb flickering on in her mind. Had she not properly considered Roy's feelings? Had she hurt him by reminding him that he wasn't the only man she loved?

A prick of worry made Claire wince.

Had she misread him? Misread everything?

Tonight was supposed to be about Roy. She was going to feed him, make him laugh, make sure he knew how loved he was. Claire's boyfriend worked hard all day and deserved to be doted on every once in a while. Besides, it was so rare that she got him to herself. Her mother had the lion's share of Roy's attention. So while she had him, she was going to give him her all.

Her stomach fluttered. A splash of guilt. It had taken a lie to give them an evening together. Not a great foundation to build a relationship on, but she saw no other way. Adam was crazy about her, and if he found out that she was also with another man he might do something rash.

She wondered, briefly, mischievously, how different her life might look if she'd met Roy first. If she had seen him at a grocery store or at work or waiting for coffee and struck up a conversation. If she had kissed him instead of Adam on a chilly fall walk home from university.

Could she have flipped the script? Could Roy have been her fiancé instead? Would she be wearing Roy's ring right now? The idea was exciting, but not worth dwelling on. Roy was her boyfriend. She knew she should feel lucky to have him in her life to the extent that he was. Wanting more would be selfish.

Still, walking down the aisle and seeing Roy at the altar waiting for her would feel like a dream...

It didn't matter. She wasn't marrying Roy. She loved Adam.

She did.

That part was unshakeable. Solid as bedrock. Adam was good and dependable and hers. The kind of person you built a life with.

But she also loved Roy. Not a crush-love or a youthful flutter. Something deeper. Something theatrical and lightning-lit and full of music. Shakespearean love. Opera love. The kind that made heroines faint and heroes do foolish, magnificent things. Roy wasn't safe, but he was essential. She could not picture her life without him threaded in it somewhere.

Maybe, someday, Roy and Adam would learn what she and her mother had discovered. That love could stretch. Could expand. Could hold more than one person if everyone was brave enough.

She hoped for that future sometimes.

She ached for it.

But telling Adam? Risking Roy?

No. Absolutely not. What she had with Roy was too precious. Too fragile. Too necessary. Losing him would be like losing a limb.

Finally, after what felt like a very awkward eternity, but was probably just a few seconds, Roy blinked. Something shifted in him. A decision made. Or surrendered to.

A gentle smile crossed his face as he stepped backward over the threshold, reached toward her, slipped one arm around her shoulders, the other under her knees. And just like that, she was floating.

Warm. Weightless. Swept up.

He lifted her like she weighed nothing, and Claire curled into him instinctively, arms sliding around his neck, lips brushing the warm edge where his jaw met his skin.

She kissed his neck softly. Light as breath, deliberate as confession. She felt him shiver.

A perfect moment.

Simple. Impossible. Perfect.

The kind she knew she'd replay later; in the shower, in bed, maybe standing next to Adam listening to his vows, smiling at the wrong memories.

Inside the apartment, Roy held her a moment longer than gravity required. Long enough for Claire to savour the safety of his arms and the scent of his collar; soap, cotton, and the faint metallic tang of car keys and long day.

I could live here, she thought absurdly. Right in this exact second.

But reality never lost. His muscles softened, and she slid down his body until her heels clicked against the hardwood.

As her balance steadied, she reached up without thinking, one hand to each cheek, and tugged his face toward hers. Their lips met again, not tentative this time. The heat was there. The wanting. The hunger under his uncertainty.

But Claire was practical. And observant. And she knew a man who hadn't eaten was a man who might crumble before she could take care of him properly. She broke the kiss, slowly, like peeling herself from velvet. He blinked at her, dazed. Good sign. Very good sign.

"All right, hero," she murmured, brushing his shirt with her fingertips as though dusting away invisible particles, "feeding first."

She crossed to the dining table, every step a sway, her dress whispering around her thighs. She set down the warm takeout bag and began unpacking containers that steamed and perfumed the whole room: garlic, ginger, pepper, soy. Roy's stomach gave a grateful growl.

Claire's heart fluttered again.

She moved into his kitchen like she'd lived there for years, opening the correct cupboard on the first try, drawing plates, glasses, cutlery into her arms. The motions were easy, familiar, domestic in a way that made her chest feel too small.

She set two places, thoughtfully diagonal instead of across, close enough for knees to bump. Close enough for hands to touch, for lips to meet.

When she finally turned, she caught Roy staring in open, bewildered wonder. Like he couldn't decide whether to step forward and kiss her again or bolt out the door.

Claire smiled, slow and sure.

"Baby," she said, voice low and velvet-dipped, "you can stare at me all night."

Then she tapped the plate nearest him with one perfectly manicured finger.

"But you're eating first." A beat. A smirk. "Fuel up. I have plans for you."

Roy swallowed audibly.

Claire pulled out the chair beside hers, close enough that their legs would tangle whether they tried to or not.

"Come on," she added, eyes glinting. "Dinner... then dessert."