Page 79 of Stuck with my Guarded MVP
Something in me wilted.
The apartment was quiet initially, when I woke up. I heard the low whir of the grinder, then the scent of fresh coffee drifted down the hallway. Just another morning.
But then I stepped into the kitchen.
And saw the travel mug.
He was standing by the counter, pouring coffee into a travel mug. Not the ceramic one he usually used, the one I secretly claimed as my favorite to see in his hands. A stainless steel one with a lid.
And he wasn’t in his usual hoodie and joggers.
No. This morning, Liam was wearing a navy wool coat over a medium blue sweater and collared shirt. Slacks. His shoes were polished. His hair looked like he hadn't even tried, which somehow made it worse. Tousled and careless and perfect. It made the green in his eyes sharper. Brighter.
It wasn’t fair, how good he looked.
I stepped into the room, wrapping my hands around the coffee mug he’d set out for me. Still warm. At least he’d rememberedthat. My fingers tightened around the ceramic as I tried not to stare. Or ask.
But the question was already there.
Who was he getting dressed up for?
He glanced at me, gave a short nod. "Morning."
That was it. No grin. No teasing comment about how I slept or the state of my hair. Not even a comment about his own outfit, which would’ve been a gimme. Nothing.
I lifted the mug to my mouth, the warmth not quite reaching my chest. "Morning."
He didn’t sit. Didn’t pour a second cup. Just turned and reached for his coat, already halfway into one sleeve.
I looked down into my coffee, its surface still rippling slightly. "You’ve got an early meeting?"
He paused only a beat. "Yeah. Something came up."
Something. That’s all I got.
I nodded, pretending that answered anything. My fingers curled tighter around the mug, anchoring it to my chest like a shield. The rim bumped against my chin when I shifted.
He grabbed his keys, his movements efficient. Like he’d done this before. Like this wasn’t new.
The door clicked open. He looked back, just briefly. "Don’t wait on me tonight. Might be late."
"Okay."
And then he was gone.
The door closed with a soft, final sound.
I stayed there, alone in the kitchen, heart thudding like I’d been left standing in the cold.
When did we stop talking?
I sank into a chair, holding the mug to my chest. Its heat was fading fast. I stared at the door long after it closed, trying to make sense of the shape he’d left behind. The sharp clothes. The vague excuses. The late nights. The polite tone.
The room tilted for a second, my stomach tightening so hard I had to press the mug harder to my chest. A faint rush filled my ears, a pressure that made the edges of the room blur for a moment.
He’s pulling away.
Something else had his attention now.
