The night slipped by in a rush of laughter, music, and the kind of glances that felt like touches. We danced as if no one was watching, his hand steady at the small of my back, mine brushing his shoulder like I was meant to be there. Every time our eyes met, something deep and unspoken passed between us, something that made my breath catch and my heart race. It wasn't the night that felt perfect—it was him, close enough to make me forget the rest of the world.
How do you describe a feeling like this? As a child, joy was ribbons and Christmas dresses. Now, it's the warmth of his hand finding mine under the table, his thumb tracing lazy circles that made heat rise to my skin. Happiness no longer feels like a gift to unwrap—it feels like a pulse, a rhythm, a song only my body knows when he's near.
We didn't hide what sparked between us; it was there in every stolen touch, every almost-kiss that hovered just shy of happening. Still, we lingered, letting the tension stretch, letting the hunger grow. His shoulder brushed against mine, his breath feathered close to my ear when he leaned in to whisper, and I had to fight the shiver that wanted to give me away.
It's clear now—we need each other. Not in the rushed, frantic way of fleeting moments, but in the slow burn of something real. He is my gravity, pulling me closer, and I let myself fall. The future can wait. Tonight, it's enough to be caught in this heat, in this quiet ache, in the way his touch says more than words ever could.
We lingered in that space between restraint and surrender, our bodies brushing closer than they should, our lips hovering in dangerous proximity. My chest rose and fell faster, and when he leaned in to murmur something I couldn't even hear over the music, his mouth grazed my ear, sending a tremor down my spine.
Then it happened. No hesitation, no more games. His lips captured mine right there on the dance floor, deep and certain, as if he'd been waiting all night—maybe all his life—for this moment. The kiss was slow at first, teasing, tasting, pulling me in, but it didn't stay innocent. His hand slid higher up my back, pressing me closer, and I melted into him, answering with the same hunger I'd been holding back. The world disappeared; the music became nothing more than a pulse under our skin.
When we finally broke apart, breathless and flushed, our foreheads rested together as though neither of us could bear the distance. His smile was wicked, mine just as undone. And I knew then—this wasn't just a fleeting moment. This was a spark turned flame, and we had only just begun to burn.
...
"Would you prefer I drop you at home, Camila?" I asked, my voice low, just enough to cut through the quiet that had settled between us.
She turned to me slowly, her lips curving into a half-smile. "You don't have to. Pam already arranged a room for me at the Airbnb."
I nodded, but didn't look away.
"Shame... I was kind of looking forward to one last excuse to spend more time with you."
She raised a brow, clearly amused—and possibly tempted.
"You really don't quit, do you?"
"Not when something feels this... right."
The silence that followed wasn't awkward. It was charged—thick with all the words we weren't saying. Her eyes lingered on mine a second too long. Her smile softened like she almost let something slip.
"While we wait for Pam," I said, sliding just a little closer, "tell me—did the night live up to your expectations?"
"It did," she said, quietly. Then, after a beat: "You have a way of pulling me out of my head."
"And you... have a way of making it hard to stop looking at you."
She bit her lip slightly, that familiar mix of hesitation and curiosity flickering across her face.
Camila isn't the type to fall easily. But I could feel her walls bending, not breaking—just enough to let me see the softness she hides behind all that drive.
The air between us shifted—subtle, but undeniable. The music from inside faded into a distant hum. Her eyes held mine a little longer this time, searching, questioning... inviting.
Neither of us spoke.
I took a small step closer. She didn't move away.
Her breath hitched—barely, but I caught it. That unspoken electricity sparked between us, the kind that makes everything else blur out of focus. I reached up gently, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face, letting my fingers linger a moment longer than necessary.
"Camila..." I whispered.
She tilted her chin up, eyes fluttering slightly as her lips parted—just enough to make my heart race. We were close. Too close. One more breath and—
A soft cough.
Polite, yet perfectly timed.
We both turned quickly to see Pamela standing a few feet away, her expression unreadable but clearly amused.
"Hope I'm not interrupting," she said with a knowing smile.
Camila stepped back, biting her lip as if trying to hide the flush on her cheeks. I chuckled, rubbing the back of my neck, pretending not to feel the moment slip through my fingers like sand.
"Right on time, Pam," I said.
Camila glanced at me, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "Saved by the cough."
I grinned. "Or robbed by it. Depends on how you look at it."
She didn't reply—just gave me that look. The one that says maybe next time...
And I hoped to God there would be a next time.
"There's a movie night tonight to wrap things up," I offered, voice deliberately casual. "Should I save you a seat... or are you planning to disappear into some spreadsheet romance?"
She laughed—genuine, warm, but there was something in her eyes when she said:
"Do you miss me already?"
The way she said it wasn't teasing—it was laced with something deeper. Like she knew exactly what she was doing.
"More than I should," I murmured. "And you haven't even left yet."
Her gaze dropped to my lips, then back to my eyes.
"Then I guess I'll see you at the movie."
God help me if she doesn't.
................................
"Camila, darling... is there something you're aching to confess to your best friend?" Pam's voice was teasing, but her eyes held that familiar glint — the kind that always made my heart skip a beat.
I knew exactly where she was steering this, but she wasn't getting it tonight. Not tomorrow either. Maybe next week, if I felt generous... or vulnerable enough to let her win.
"Something I ought to tell my best friend?" I countered, tilting my head, feigning innocence. "Nothing comes to mind... unless you've heard whispers?"
Her smile curled — slow and knowing.
"Oh, you mean my new role as Head of Operations? How did you hear about that? Don't tell me my office has started leaking secrets through newsletters."
She shook her head with mock impatience. "Don't play coy, babe. You know exactly what I'm talking about. Spill the tea before I dump the whole cup on you."
"Well, my dear Pam... I could hand you the tea and the cup, let you sort it out yourself... or," I leaned in just a little closer, lowering my voice, "I could pour you something sweeter."
Her eyes flickered — just for a second — and the air between us thickened. We almost didn't notice how close we'd gotten, our arms now linked as we approached the apartment door.
"This little secret of yours won't stay hidden for long. And if the famous relationship expert dares to make you her headline, I swear you'll see my true colors."
I laughed softly, a nervous flutter in my chest. Our banter was always our language — but sometimes, it felt like it was saying something more.
After some deep, soul-touching conversations with Pam and the love of her life, I finally slipped away to the quiet sanctuary of my room. The soft glow of the evening filtered through the curtains, casting gentle shadows that seemed to cradle me in their warmth. They say you save the best for last — and tonight, that felt less like a cliché and more like a quiet promise I was holding close to my heart.
I sank into the stillness, craving the solitude to unravel the threads of the day. Every moment replayed vividly in my mind—the sound of Pam's laughter mingling with the low hum of the city beyond the window, the subtle brush of Harry's presence lingering like a soft, warm breeze against my skin.
I could still feel it—the way his eyes held mine, like a secret only the two of us could read. That silent conversation between us was louder than words, filled with all the possibilities we hadn't dared to speak. Even now, the faint trace of his cologne lingered in the air, soft and addictive, wrapping around me like an embrace I didn't want to escape.
Maybe tonight, as sleep tugs me under, I'll drift into a dream spun from him—a dream where his hands find mine without hesitation, where his lips brush close enough to steal my breath, where laughter and whispers blur into something sweeter. A dream where every glance is a promise, every touch a spark, every word a secret meant only for me.
And maybe, just maybe, when morning comes, I'll wake carrying more than just hope—I'll wake with the memory of how it felt to be seen, wanted, and held in a way that no dream could ever fully capture.