Page 16 of Anchor
A pause.
“I figured quiet wasn’t the worst thing I could offer.”
Her breath caught on something that wasn’t quite laughter. “You don’t sugarcoat, do you?”
“No.”
“You ever try?”
“I’m not good at it.”
She turned then, resting her back against the glass, arms crossed but not defensive, just folded. “I remember what you said in the car when I said you didn’t have to…”
He met her gaze.
I do.The words held different meaning here. There was no leather upholstery, no tinted windows, only her small apartment and the silence between the walls. She didn’t look away. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
“Because I don’t like watching people get thrown away.”
The heat behind her cooled. Or maybe it was just the way his words sank in. She stared at him for a long beat, then walked back to the table.
They finished eating slowly after that, the silence softer. It wasn’t a wall anymore, but something shared. Claire leaned back against the stool, pushing her sleeves up, the borrowed jacket still warm around her shoulders. She reached into the bag, pulled out the last sweet plantain, and held it out to him between her fingers.
He took it.
Their fingers touched.
He didn’t pull away. Neither did she.
Whatever this was, it wasn’t just quiet anymore.
He cleared the wrappers with quiet efficiency while she stood, stretching the stiffness from her legs. The rain outsidehad slowed to a whisper against the windows. The hush in the apartment felt heavier now—not oppressive but full.
He looked at her, not as a handler, not as a bodyguard or an assigned escort. He was… himself.
Claire opened her mouth, but the words didn’t come easily. She’d carried silence all night. Now it felt heavy.
“I need out of this dress,” she said softly, heading down the short hallway.
By the time they reached her bedroom door, the quiet between them had shifted. It wasn’t brittle anymore, but it wasn’t easy either. He stopped just behind her. She felt his presence, the steady hum of him, grounded and unflinching.
She turned to face him, his tuxedo jacket still around her shoulders. “You can go,” she said, but it came out too soft, without the edge she’d meant to put on it.
His eyes didn’t leave hers. “Not until I know you’re okay.”
She wanted to lie. Wanted to say she was fine. Wanted to wear the armor she always wore.
But the words wouldn’t come. Not with him standing there, steady and unhurried, like he had all night to wait her out.
And that was when she felt it. The crack in her own composure widened. The fatigue in her bones ached. The sting in her chest had nothing to do with danger and everything to do with a mother who could walk away without a backward glance.
Her voice barely cleared her throat. “I’m not okay.”
She opened a dresser drawer and pulled out a pair of yoga pants and a tee shirt. His jacket stayed wrapped around her like armor she hadn’t realized she needed until it was there.
