Another knock. Groaning, Maggie grabbed the doorknob again, and opened it just enough to reveal her face and one begrudging shoulder. Doris, as always, was unfazed.
“I was going to leave this under your door,” Doris said, holding up a printed flyer like it was a court summons, “but I heard noises. Thought it might be related.”
I could feel Maggie dying inside from across the room.
“The furnace is out. Heating may be down for a few days. Apologies.”
Then she turned and walked to the next unit like she hadn’t just delivered both divine judgment and utility failure in under ten seconds. Maggie shut the door with more dignity than I would’ve managed. She held the flyer between two fingers like it might be contagious.
“The heater’s out,” she muttered, reading. “Building-wide maintenance delay. Temporary portable units on request. Dress warm. Apologies for the inconvenience.”
I groaned dramatically. “Great. First, I nearly combust from you, and now the heater’s down? This building is a health hazard.”
She stared at the flyer. “Why didn’t she just text?”
“Because Doris is analog. She probably thinks phones are soul portals.”
She gave me a look that was somewhere between exhausted and amused. I loved that look.
“According to the roommate agreement,” I said solemnly, “you’re supposed to warn me before opening the door when I’m naked and vulnerable.”
She arched a brow. “Is that so?”
I clutched the blanket tighter around my waist. “Yes. Subsection four. Privacy Clause. You broke at least three clauses.”
“Three?”
“Three minimum.” I sat up, grinning like a heathen. “That’s at least three cuddles. And an apology muffin. Full size. With cinnamon.”
She narrowed her eyes, but her lips twitched. “You actually keep count?”
“I have a spreadsheet.”
That earned me a full laugh. She shook her head and flopped onto the arm of the couch beside me, dress hitching, revealing a stretch of thigh that made it very hard to focus on my post-furnace complaint.
“God, you’re ridiculous,” she murmured.
“I’m delightful.”
“You’re something, all right.”
Her shoulder brushed mine, and I put my hand on her knee. Her head tipped slightly against mine like we’d been doing this for years instead of weeks. Like she’d always belonged in this apartment, barefoot and flushed and fighting back smiles.
Outside the window, the wind howled down the street. Inside, it was quiet and comfortable. Which scared the hell out of me. Because the more I looked at her, the more I realized I wasn’t acting. And the second she looked back?
I knew she wasn’t either.
I didn’t say it out loud, but I could feel the words coiled somewhere under my ribs, just waiting to break free.
Stay.
Don’t run.
Please don’t let this be the part where we pretend it didn’t mean anything.
“You cold?” Maggie asked.
I shook my head.
But yeah, I was freezing-not from the heat being out, but from the fear that if I moved too fast or said too much, this whole thing would vanish.
I pulled the blanket higher, leaned into her just enough to make it count, and whispered, “Roommate agreement says you owe me a muffin.”
She smiled.
I could live off that smile for days.
Maggie
I was wrapped in three and still couldn’t shake the chill. The apartment held that brittle cold that didn’t just bite at your skin but settled deep, like it was trying to carve space inside your bones. Every breath I took came out in a fog. Every limb felt heavy.
The only space heater sat humming beside the bed, its soft orange glow making it look like the world had died down to embers.
Roman had insisted I take it.
And by insisted, I meant he’d said, “This is how I die, Maggie. Alone. Blue. Tragic. Tell my story,” then dramatically collapsed on the hallway floor until I gave in and dragged the heater into my room.
So now I was warmer than Roman. And alone.
I was just starting to drift off, caught in that floaty, in-between space where dreams stretch into real things, when I felt the mattress dip behind me. I caught the scent of pine and skin and something undeniably Roman. It was familiar. Grounding. And warmed me faster than the heater ever could.
“Hope you don’t mind,” he murmured, voice shaking with cold and exhaustion. “But I’m fucking freezing to death. Can I sleep in here with you?”
I didn’t have time to answer. He was already halfway under the blankets, like sharing my bed had always been the logical next step. His bare chest met my back, and suddenly the cold wasn’t my main concern anymore.
The heat of him soaked through me instantly. He shifted behind me, tugging the blanket higher over both of us, then slung one arm across my waist. Not tight. Not pushy. Just there.
But oh, it was there.
I was wearing one of his old T-shirts-his clothes kept mysteriously mixing in with my laundry. No bra. Just underwear and this threadbare cotton that smelled like him. His breath warmed the back of my neck. His chest pressed against my spine with every inhale. I could feel him- all of him-close enough to send a shiver down my back that had nothing to do with the cold.
I told myself it was fine. We were simply keeping warm.
Except his fingers were splayed gently on my waist as if they’d always belonged there. Like my body was familiar ground he was afraid to disturb but couldn’t stop touching.
I shifted slightly. Just enough to close the last inch between us.
He stilled.
So did I.
We were playing a dangerous game with no reset button, and I didn’t want to stop.
His hand moved, slow and deliberate, sliding across the fabric of my shirt- his shirt-down to where the hem rested against my hip. His fingertips skimmed under the edge, warm on my bare skin. I exhaled shakily.
His lips brushed against my ear. “Tell me to stop.”
I didn’t. I couldn’t. Instead, I turned to face him, heart pounding so hard I was sure he could feel it. His eyes caught mine in the dark-soft, serious, waiting. He was giving me a chance to back out.
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