Page 25 of The Cuddle Clause
I didn’t let go, and neither did he.
The secondwe stepped inside the apartment, I made a beeline for the fridge and flung the door open. Cool air rushed over my face as I leaned into the shelves, practically shoving my entire head inside. The blast of cold numbed the heat in my cheeks, though it didn’t touch the fire still simmering inside me. I braced my hands on the sides and stayed there.
This was fine. Everything was fine. I just needed to chill. Literally. Emotionally. Existentially.
I stared at the oat milk as if it held answers. I kept thinking about the look on Eric’s face when he saw Roman: the tight little twitch of his jaw, the way his hand flexed around Bianca’s like he was holding onto a life raft. He hadn’t expected me to havemoved on.Not with someone like Roman. Not with someone who smiled like he knew what he wanted and kissed like he already had it.
I should’ve felt triumphant. Giddy. Vengeful.
Instead, all I could think about was Roman’s lips on mine. So steady and deliberate, like he’d meant it. Like he wanted more.
And then?—
“Your lips are really soft,” Roman murmured as he brushed past me. His voice was low and husky, so close I felt the words against my neck more than I heard them.
My brain short-circuited. What did he just—? That couldn’t be an appropriate thing for aroommateto say. I mean, sure, we’d made out in the middle of a farmer’s market, but that was strategic. A weaponized kiss. Theater.
Right?Right.
A softthudcaught my attention. I turned and saw a small paper bag on the counter beside me. Roman, already halfway into grocery unpacking mode, didn’t even glance up. He was unloading kale like the kiss, the comment, the entire day hadn’t just realigned the solar system.
I peeked inside the bag. A tiny jar of wildflower honey stared back at me.
My throat tightened. “What’s this?”
He shrugged, still not looking at me. “You told me your throat gets dry when you’re anxious. Thought it might help. You know, next time someone ambushes you with ex vibes and unresolved trauma.”
I clutched the jar, feeling something behind my ribs bend. I didn’t know what to say. “Thank you” felt too small; saying nothing felt like cowardice. So I just stood there, holding kindness disguised in a glass jar.
We unpacked the rest of the groceries in silence. It wasn’t awkward, exactly, just charged. The space between us hummed like an old radio barely tuned into the right station.
Roman was also humming as he grabbed basil and a cutting board. He moved with an easy rhythm, like he knew his place in this kitchen in a way I didn’t. Not yet.
I watched him from the corner of my eye while I rinsed the kale. His hair was a little messy, forearms flexing beneath his rolled-up sleeves as he chopped like he was born to prep produce and unravel my willpower one act at a time.
This fake-dating thing might become a very real problem.
We fell into a rhythm, standing side by side. He chopped apples while I tore the kale into bite-sized pieces. We didn’t talk, just moved, a quiet kind of comfort I hadn’t known I’d missed. No need to explain myself. No eggshells to walk on.
We tossed the greens with walnuts and apple slices, drizzled a vinaigrette over the top, and Roman handed me a salad bowl like we did this every Saturday.
I grabbed two forks from the drawer, still not trusting my mouth to say anything useful.
We each took a bite. Roman’s gaze flicked to my lips as I licked a drop of dressing from the corner of my mouth.
“We make a good team.”
I swallowed and nodded. “Yeah. We seem to.”
The apartment was too quiet.
Roman had left for a pack meeting an hour ago, tossing a casual “won’t be late” over his shoulder as he adjusted the sleeves of his hoodie and grabbing his keys. I’d offered to go with him, in case he wanted backup or someone to glare meaningfully at Lucien. Roman had given me that tilted smile he got when he was about to say something that sounded nice but was actually firm.
“Not yet. You’ll come when Lucien asks for you. That’s how it works.”
And that was that.
Now I was alone, wrapped in a silence that felt too clean, too still. No music, no humming, no sarcastic commentary drifting down the hall. Just me and my unraveling brain.
