I WAKE up like someone has finally loosened the knots inside my chest.
For the first time in eight years, there is a strange lightness in my bones, as if I have finally set down a weight I once convinced myself was part of me. All the unsaid words, the swallowed screams, and the practiced smiles quietly fall away, not with drama, but with mercy. I do not have to carry them anymore.
I do not have to prove my strength by how much pain I can endure in silence.
I sit up, blinking as the morning light slips through the curtains and settles into my room. My eyes slowly adjust. Beyond the slightly open door, I hear movement in the kitchen. Soft sounds. Familiar, domestic. An aroma drifts in, something warm and comforting, something I have not woken up to in the last eight years.
What happened last night comes rushing back all at once, heat blooming across my cheeks. I lift a hand to my lips as the memory surfaces, with her in my kitchen. The way she kissed me, like she had been waiting just as long as I had.
Her lips move gently against mine, steady and reassuring, echoing the promise she had just spoken aloud. Her hand cups my cheek, thumb brushing softly as if grounding me there. For a moment, I almost forget everything else.
Then the kettle whistles, like a bell pulling us back to reality.
I break the kiss immediately and stand, turning my back to her as I force myself to breathe, to wake myself up from whatever we were starting to slip into. What just happened? The confession, maybe, was explainable. But the kiss should never have been part of it.
I press my lips together, silently scolding myself for getting lost, for answering her with my mouth instead of my mind.
Ugh.
I hear her clear her throat behind me. "Lauren?" she calls softly.
I do not have the strength to look back. I am afraid she would see straight through me, see the heat on my face, and see the embarrassment I am failing to hide. I answer with a short hum instead.
"Can we try that one-time thing again?"
My eyes widen. I turn before I can stop myself, needing to see if she is serious, if I heard her right. She remembers. Of course she does. What I once called a one-time thing back at my dorm, something that was supposed to end there but didn't. It never really did.
"No."
"Why?" she asks, as if my answer is the most absurd thing she has ever heard.
"We are not the same college girls anymore," I say carefully. "I am your attorney, and you are my client. Anything between us that has nothing to do with your case can be used against you."
I avoid her gaze as I move around the counter to turn off the stove, but I can still feel her eyes on me. It makes my chest throb, tight and unsteady.
She sighs. "No one will know."
I look up at her then. There is a glimmer in her eyes, something reckless and tempting, still asking for permission. The same eyes that have always undone me when they linger too long on mine.
Damn those eyes.
"I... I'll think about it," I say, hating the slight hesitation in my voice.
That is enough to make her smile. She nods, almost childlike, as if she has already won.
I slump back against the headboard, biting my lip as I try to suppress the smile threatening to give me away. I should not be feeling this. Whatever exists between us now should remain professional. We are not the same people we were before, not naïve teenagers acting on impulse and emotion.
But then I freeze, remembering what I told her last night. The words replay in my head, vivid and reckless. Frustration hits me all at once, and I rake a hand through my hair.
"What are you doing?"
My body jerks upright when her voice comes from the doorway. Did she just see me spiraling like that? I look up just in time to catch her smirking, one hand still on the doorknob, eyes bright with mischief. Of course she saw it.
I try to act normal, even though my chest is pounding too loudly and my face feels like it is on fire.
"Nothing," I say, standing up too quickly, suddenly very interested in anything that is not her face.
"Breakfast is ready," she says, her tone sweet and almost honeyed. It makes me turn despite myself.
Her eyes trail over me slowly, starting from my legs and moving up to my chest before stopping there. That is when it hits me. What am I wearing? My Victoria's Secret nightgown. The realization makes my cheeks burn even hotter. Instinctively covering my chest, making her lustful eyes look up to mine.
"I see you've changed your preferences in pajamas," smirking like a Cheshire cat. "Is that why you insisted I sleep on the couch?"
"Shut up, Megan!"
She laughs, clearly enjoying every second of my embarrassment, before shaking her head in amusement. "Get dressed. I'll wait in the kitchen," she closes the bedroom door behind her, leaving me alone with my racing heart and absolutely no dignity.
I SHUFFLE into the kitchen, tugging my robe closer around my body, suddenly aware of how quiet the morning is. Megan stands behind the counter, sliding freshly made pancakes onto a plate, steam curling lazily into the air. The table is already laid out with food that I am certain did not exist in my fridge before.
She looks up when I enter, her eyes briefly flicking to my face before drifting down to the spread in front of her.
"Good morning." Her head tilts slightly. "I hope you did not mind me using your kitchen."
"Morning." I shake my head as my stomach betrays me, the scent alone making my mouth water. My gaze lingers on the table. "I do not remember having bacon in my fridge."
It has been years since I have had a home cooked meal. Years since breakfast was not rushed, forgotten, or skipped entirely. I lean against the counter, watching her finish preparing everything, allowing myself to simply exist there, watching her.
She lets out a soft chuckle as she places the pan into the sink. "I asked my driver and the guards to do groceries." Her tone is casual, almost effortless. She gestures toward the stool beside the table, her smile gentle but unmistakably teasing. "Sit down. Let us eat."
"What?" I raise an eyebrow when I catch her smirking the moment I straighten on the stool.
She offers no reply, She only shakes her head before turning back to the stove. She reaches for two mugs, the ceramic clinking softly, and walks back toward me. She keeps one and slides the other across the table, stopping just short of my hand.
Steam curls from the mug. I stiffen when the scent reaches me, sweet and familiar. My cheeks warm before I can stop it.
"You made this?" I lift the mug carefully, inhaling again.
Spanish latte. Exactly how I like it.
She nods, watching me over the rim of her own cup, her smile slow and knowing. "Taste it. I know you still like it when I am the one making it."
I bite the inside of my cheek before finally taking a sip.
The flavor hits instantly. It is exactly the same Spanish latte she used to serve me eight years ago. I swallow, suddenly aware of how quiet the kitchen has become and how closely she is watching my reaction.
"It is... good," I manage, forcing my tone into something neutral, even though it is already obvious that my cheeks no longer carry their usual color.
"Only good?" She pouts. "You are still terrible with feedback."
I glance up at her, catching the spark in her eyes, and shake my head. I try to hide my smile, but it curves on my lips anyway when I see her pout.
"Do not push your luck," I chuckle.
"I know you like the coffee I make." She laughs softly, clearly satisfied, then sats down on teh s tool next to mine with her mug, taking a sip of her coffee. "Now try the food. I made sure it is a full American breakfast." She hands me the plate and the utensils.
She may not notice it, but I cannot erase the smile on my lips as I watch her talk while filling my plate. I did not expect that a simple outburst last night would lead to this. To something that feels so familiar, like slipping back into habits we once shared without awkwardness. The only thing dividing us now is reality.
She is my client, and I am her attorney.
But for a moment, it is just us here in my kitchen. I want to savor this, because outside this door, the truth is waiting.
"Here," she murmurs softly as she sets the plate down in front of me. "Eat before it gets cold. I worked hard on this."
"Are you trying to fatten me up?"
"No." Her lips curve into a satisfied grin. "I am just making sure you are well taken care of."
Heat creeps up my cheeks. I turn my head slightly, lifting my fork, my heart still hammering. I glance up at her. "It smells... amazing," I manage, steering the conversation back to the food.
"It tastes good too."
I nod, feeling the warmth rise again as she watches me expectantly. I cut into the pancakes and take a bite. They are soft, perfectly cooked, and rich with flavor. I almost want to cry at the realization that this is the first proper meal I have had in a long time. Back then, when Megan and I were together, she always cooked for us. She forgot to eat, but she never forgot to make sure I did.
She leans closer to grab the syrup from the counter, her shoulder brushing against mine. A small, electric jolt runs through me. I tell myself to focus, but the warmth lingers longer than it should.
"You are staring," she teases, tilting her head. "Not at the food, I hope?"
I snap my gaze back to the pancakes, forcing my voice to sound steadier than I feel. "I am just appreciating...the food," I mutter, fully aware that she sees through me.
Her smirk widens, a quiet laugh escaping her. "Sure, Lauren. The food." She sets the syrup down, her eyes lingering on mine longer than necessary. "You know, for one morning, you do not have to be professional...It's just us."
I chew slowly, letting her words sink in, tasting the sweetness of the pancakes. My mind repeats the same reminders. Client. Boundaries. Rules. But my body, the part that remembers every touch and every lingering glance, whispers that maybe, just this once, the rules could wait. Added to that is the gentle way she reaches for the loose strands of hair falling across my face, tucking them behind my ear.
She steps back slightly, giving me space, yet her presence still fills the kitchen with quiet gravity. I lift my fork again, stealing a glance at her, and for a heartbeat, we share a look that has nothing to do with cases, contracts, or boundaries.
Just us.
And it is enough to make the morning feel infinite.
LEANDRA looks me up and down, her brows furrowing as if she is trying to decipher some hidden code written all over my face. She has followed me into my office the moment I arrived and has been staring at me ever since, like I suddenly grew two heads overnight.
"What?" I finally sigh, dropping the case file I have been reading onto my desk. "Do you not have anything better to do today, or are you planning to keep staring at me?"
She does not answer immediately. Instead, she leans closer, eyes narrowing with unsettling curiosity.
"Tell me," she blurts out, "did you get laid last night?"
My eyes widen instantly. "What the kind of question is that, Leandra?"
She exhales dramatically, clearly disappointed. "So you did not have sex." She plops down onto my visitor's chair like a giddy child, her gaze scanning my face all over again. "But you look... different. You look like you are blooming today."
"I just had a good morning, that is all." I massage my temples, already regretting engaging. I expect her to drop it.
She does not. Instead, her lips curl into a familiar, mischievous smirk, the kind that always means trouble.
"Oh, I know," she bursts out, laughing like a madwoman. "You and Megan finally hit it off again after all that unresolved past drama." Her eyebrows bob up and down exaggeratedly.
I groan, leaning back in my chair. "You are impossible."
She only grins wider, clearly pleased with herself. "Tell me about it."
"Do you not have a case to handle," I counter, "or maybe go cuddle your wife?"
She grimaces and leans back in her chair. "So stingy."
She has been busy with her own case these past few days, barely showing up at the firm. Now that she has finally won it, she suddenly has all the time in the world to pester me.
"I have a case too, you know." I tap the folder on my desk. "I need to file for her trial in two days."
Her teasing expression softens, just slightly. "Oh. How is her case going?"
"Moving, just barely." I let out a tired sigh. "She is cooperating and giving me what I need, so there is a good chance we survive the first trial."
Leandra hums thoughtfully, then her eyes narrow again, mischief creeping back in. "Are you sure she is cooperating with the case and not in... other things?"
I shoot her a warning look. "Do you want me to call Olivia so you can spend the rest of your day running from her?"
"NO!" She answers immediately, her voice rising an octave.
Now it is my turn to raise an eyebrow and grin at her.
She is absolutely terrified of her wife, and I have always been curious as to why. I have only seen her wife's name and photos, never met her in person. It makes me want to meet Olivia even more, just to understand how my fearless best friend, who never backs down in any courtroom, ends up running from her own beautiful wife.
She clears her throat and pushes herself up from the chair. "Fine. I will leave you alone, then." She snorts before turning and walking out of my office.
I laugh quietly, shaking my head as I watch her go.