STEPHANIE
...

"This feels illegal. Are you sure we're supposed to be doing this?"

Mel shoots me a glare as she pours crimson liquid into two wide wine glasses. The bottle looks expensive, way out of anything I'd ever buy.

"Relax," she says, lifting her glass to her lips. She closes her eyes and savors the taste like she's in one of those wine commercials. "Perfect. Jeremiah won't even notice."

I hesitate, eyeing my glass like it might be laced with something.

"Steph, it's just wine," she says with a roll of her eyes. "Drink it!"

She sets her glass down and turns toward the sink, starting on the dishes as if this whole thing is completely normal. I take a cautious sip, bracing for bitterness or anything that isn't good-but damn, she's right. It's perfect. Silky, smooth, and nothing like the cheap stuff I'm used to.

Not that I'm going to admit that to her.

I step up beside her, grabbing a towel to dry the dishes she's washing. The sound of water running and plates clinking fills the room, but it's not awkward. It's easy, almost comforting-the kind of quiet where you don't feel the need to fill the space with forced conversation.

We're talking about her leg now. How it's healing. How she swears up and down she doesn't need physio anymore, even though I saw her limp three separate times today.

"I'm fine," she says, waving me off like it's no big deal.

"You're not fine," I counter, folding the towel over my hand like I mean business. "You've been walking like you're auditioning for Pirates of the Caribbean."

She pauses, then flicks a bit of water at me. "First of all, rude. Second, it's not that bad."

"It's that bad." I flick water back, grinning when she gasps.

"You're so dramatic," she says, but she's smiling. And her smile-it's the kind of thing that sneaks up on you, that softens the edges of whatever else is going on in the world. It's stupid how much I like seeing it.

The dishes get done faster than I realize, but neither of us leaves the kitchen. She leans back against the counter, glass of wine in hand, her other hand casually brushing back a strand of hair that's fallen loose. I lean next to her, mirroring her without even meaning to.

We sip our drinks. We're not in a rush to go anywhere, and for some reason, the silence between us feels heavier now, thicker. I don't know if it's me, overthinking everything, or if she feels it too.

"So," she says, clearing her throat because the quiet is starting to feel dangerous, even for me too. "Are you gonna admit I was right about the wine yet?"

I raise an eyebrow, my lips curving into that teasing little smirk that always makes me feel like I'm so hot. "Fine. You were right. It's good."

"Good?" she repeats, pretending to be offended. "This is phenomenal. This is the best, and you're calling it 'good'?"

My laugh is instant, bright and warm I can't feel it in my chest. "Okay, fine. It's phenomenal. Happy?"

"Very."

The way she's looking at me now-it's different. Her gaze lingers a second too long, like she's seeing something she hasn't noticed before. Or maybe she's noticed it all along. Either way, my heart does this weird, stuttering thing that I can't control.

Somehow, the conversation shifts, and so does the air between us.

"I had fun today," she says after a while, her voice soft.

I shoot her a grin over the rim of my glass. "Me too."

There's something in her eyes-something I can't quite place. It's like she's trying to decide something, her gaze flicking to me and then away again.

"You're fun," she adds, almost as an afterthought.

"You too," I say, my voice quieter this time.

She laughs, but I notice the way her chest rises and falls a little too quickly, like she's trying to catch her breath. And it's not because of the wine or the day we've had.

I drain the last of my glass, the TV in the living room calling to me like a lifeline. We should probably go watch something, distract ourselves from...whatever this is.

But neither of us moves.

I take a step closer, the distance between us shrinking to nothing. She doesn't step back or push me away. She just looks down at her glass, refusing to meet my eyes.

"I..." My voice catches, and I clear my throat. "I've been meaning to tell you something."

Her eyes snap up to mine. "Steph..."

It's a warning, but I ignore it.

"I-" I rub the back of my neck, words sticking to my tongue. "Look, I don't want things to be weird between us, but I think I...I sort of ...I think I like you."

Her expression doesn't change, but her eyes-those deep, unreadable eyes-lock onto mine.

"Steph," she breathes, and it's not a rejection, but it's not exactly encouragement either.

I shake my head, forcing the words out before I lose my nerve. "So much it fuckin' annoys me sometimes."

Her gaze drops to my lips, and my heart practically leaps out of my chest.

Her silence is maddening, but her body language is telling a different story. She's leaning just slightly toward me, her breathing uneven.

"Say something," I whisper, desperation creeping into my voice. I could handle a slap, even a laugh, but this silence? It's unbearable.

She just stares, her lips parted like she's about to speak but can't find the words.

"Can I kiss you?" I ask again, softer this time.

She doesn't say yes, but she tips her chin up, and that's all the confirmation I need.

My heart is pounding so hard it feels like it's going to burst out of my chest as I lean in. Her breath is warm on my face, sweet and intoxicating. My lips brush against hers-lightly, barely a whisper of a kiss-but it's enough to send a jolt through me.

I'm about to close the gap, to kiss her properly, when the sharp sound of glass shattering rips through the moment.

Mel gasps, jerking back, and I feel something cold and wet spill over my feet. I look down to see her wine glass in pieces on the floor, the dark liquid pooling around my feet.

The universe, ladies and gentlemen. Always delivering its impeccable timing.

Mel looks horrified, her hands flying to her mouth as she stares at the mess.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," she says, her voice high and frantic.

I shake my head, waving her off. "It's fine. Seriously."

Well, if this isn't a sign, I don't know what is.