Page 28 of Crossing Lines

Before she can say anything more, I blurt out, “Oh, I almost forgot. I have something for you.” I pull out the muted green tile with a blooming flower painted on it. It’s one of the treasures I found in the thrift shop today. “I thought you could use it as a coaster.” Rose loves flowers, and she likes to play up the irony in that.

She takes the tile in her hand and runs a thumb over the blossom. “It’s beautiful, thank you.”

I get up and kiss her cheek. “I need to get going, but I’ll stop by in a few days?”

She nods and then gives me a gentle, knowing look. “You’re capable of more than you know, and I hope one day you’ll see yourself as the amazing woman you are.”

“Nowthatsounds like a horoscope.” I try to joke, to brush off the words, but it fallsflat.

“Nope,” she says softly, “this one is all me.”

I swallow hard and paste a smile onto my face, hiding the sudden, overwhelming urge to cry.

It’s been two weeks since Evren moved in, and I hate that I look forward to seeing him. It’s stupid, really. I’m not supposed to care. But this morning, I found a handwritten note tucked inside my cereal box asking if I was reconsidering the franchising deal. Without thinking, I wrote back saying I’d only accept that when the apocalypse starts and left it by the stove.

When he saw it, hechuckled. Not one of his usual half-huffs or those barely there smiles. No, this was something deeper, warmer, real. And I hate how much it stirred something inside me. Hate how he casually folded the note and tucked it into his suit jacket like it was something worth keeping.

I hate that I like waking up early just to have coffee and cereal with him, even though I like my sleep. But here I am, not only knowing his routine by heart, but taking part in it. After our morning coffee, he heads straight to work. Sometimes he’s back by seven, but more often than not, it’s closer to eight. And for that hour in between, I find myself lingering in the kitchen, pretending I’m not waiting for him.

I glare at the clock as the minutes tick by, each one making me more angry than the last. He hasn’t been lateonce since we started this little routine, so what the hell is keeping him tonight? A knot tightens in my chest, and I shove it down, refusing to admit what it means. It’s not like I care if he’s late. It’s not like I’m expecting a message. No, that’d be ridiculous.

But what’s not so ridiculous is this worry that I’m somehow, suddenly, not important enough for him to be on time. My hands clench, the simmering frustration quickly turning into something sharper.

A wicked idea forms in my mind, and a slow smirk tugs at my lips. Tonight, I’ll interrupt his sauna time. Tonight, I’m going to find out what’s so amazing about sitting in a hot box—and make sure he doesn’t forget about me again.

Changing into my bathing suit, I wait for Evren to have his nightly swim. There’s this need inside me to disrupt his perfect control. If I’m being thrown off by him, it’s only fair he feels the same.

I just don’t know what to do with myself to pass the time while I wait. My sewing machine calls to me, but every time I sit down to design anything except something related to Evren’s logo, I draw a blank.

At ten thirty, there’s a splash in the pool.

Finally.

I part the curtains and watch him. He normally swims for thirty minutes, so I wait until minute twenty-nine before heading out to the pool. The second he notices me, he stops swimming and stares as if he doesn’t believe I’m really here.

“Hey,” he says, using the ledge to pull himself out of the pool. The strength, the power, to do that move so easily is hot. He wraps a towel around his waist and stands right in front of me. “Is everything okay?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You never come out here at night.”

“Looks like I’m not the only one changing up my routine tonight,” I say, ignoring how much I like the idea that he might be taking note of my schedule, too.

He lifts an eyebrow. “You noticed?”

“We’re roommates. Unfortunately, it’s hard not to notice.”

“I like that you’re keeping tabs on me,” he says, his voice low, a hint of amusement curling around the words. “My last meeting ran over. That’s why I wasn’t home at the usual time.”

“Good for you,” I snap, stepping to the side, but he mirrors my movement, effortlessly blocking my path.

“Move,” I grit out, irritation sparking through me. “I’m using the sauna tonight.”

“Really?” he drawls slowly, as if not believing me. “Because I was also going to use it now…” His gaze drags over me, slow and deliberate, like he’s taking in every inch of me and making sure I notice.

Oh, I notice all right. How could I not?

“Well,” I say, “it looks like you’re going to have to wait.”

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