Chapter 12: The Routine, Rewritten

Morning Shift

It was Sunday again, but different.

Same walk. Same air. Same house with the too-loud wind chimes.

But we weren’t the same.

Carla walked beside me like she always had. But now, her arm brushed mine and stayed close.

“I like when it’s quiet,” she said.

“Even with the chimes?”

She laughed. “They’re part of it.”

We passed the corner with the hibiscus bush. I plucked one, held it out.

“For your hair.”

She rolled her eyes but took it. “You’re getting soft on me.”

“Just observant.”

She tucked it behind her ear. “Mira qué lindo,” she said softly. Then—more teasing—”Now people’ll think we’re a couple.”

Maybe we were.

After the Walk

Lunch was leftovers. Chicken and plantains. She made fun of how I reheated everything.

“Dry ass chicken,” she muttered, popping a bite in her mouth anyway.

“You’re still eating it,” I pointed out.

She shrugged. “It’s not the food. It’s the company.”

We ate on the couch, legs touching, plates in our laps. The TV played something neither of us paid attention to.

Her foot rested against mine. Casual. Familiar. But it still made my chest ache.

Afterward, she leaned back with a yawn and curled into the cushion.

Softness

I thought she’d head home.

Instead, she stayed. Let her body ease down until her head found my lap.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Mmm,” she mumbled, already fading.

A beat later, softer: “Mi cariño...”

I stroked her curls. Felt her body rise and fall with slow, sleepy breaths.

This was all I wanted.

Not the kiss. Not the sex. Not even the words.

Just this. Her here.

Her choosing me when she didn’t have to.