It's been a week since I last saw Peyton.
This time, I've been avoiding him.
His messages pop up one after another, and I ignore each one.
When I close my eyes, all I can see is that kiss, our lips and tongues entwining, it's hard to tell whose desire was stronger.
Just as everything was about to ignite and I was on the verge of losing control, Peyton turned over and got out of bed, heading straight into the bathroom without a second glance. Listening to the sound of water splashing from inside, I pulled the covers over myself. At least, things weren't too bad yet.
I was sitting on the carpet, building with blocks when the doorbell rang. This apartment is entirely mine, and only Joaquin knows where I live. The screen on the doorbell lit up, revealing Peyton's figure. He looked directly at me, as if trying to peer into my soul through the screen.
I lowered my head and opened the door for him.
Peyton seemed surprised that I opened the door so easily. His previous calmness had vanished, replaced by a hint of nervousness. He stood still, frozen in place.
The awkwardness returned.
I shifted uncomfortably. "Come in."
He cleared his throat lightly and looked at the shoe rack next to the elevator. "There are no slippers."
I realized then that I hadn't expected him to come here, so I hadn't prepared any slippers for men. The only pair on the shoe rack were Joaquin's, a pair of women's slippers.
"Just come in."
Peyton nodded and, carrying a thermal bag, made his way straight to the dining table, laying out a spread of food.
"I made you some of your favorites." I grabbed two sets of cutlery, setting one down in front of him. "Come, eat with me."
Only then did the tension on his face ease.
I glanced at him briefly, and couldn't help but notice how his smile seemed so bright, almost blinding. It made my lips curl up too.
For a moment, it felt like life had slowed down, like everything was perfectly still.
The only problem was that the food didn't taste great. It seemed like the chef had made a mistake, but it wasn't a big deal.
Peyton took a couple of bites, then cleared his throat and looked at me hesitantly, as though there was something he wanted to say. I met his gaze, waiting for him to speak, but just then, my phone rang.
It couldn't have come at a worse time.
Peyton had intended to hang up, but after seeing the caller ID, he hesitated for a moment and answered the call.
I saw the name flash on the screen—Meadow—and heard crying coming from the receiver. Peyton's expression grew more serious, and as he hung up, he stood up abruptly, speaking in a rushed manner.
"Meadow's child is sick. I need to take the baby to the hospital." It felt as though something in my mind snapped, and suddenly my body felt cold. The fork in my hand trembled as it poked at the food. It took me a moment to find my voice.
"Did you make it?"
"Yeah."
His expression was complicated as he quickly brushed me off and turned to leave. Just before reaching the door, he glanced back at me.
"Janet, let's talk when I get back, alright?"
I nodded silently. After his figure disappeared completely, I picked up a piece of clam meat. Last week, when Peyton's father was pressuring us to have children, Peyton said we weren't in a hurry.
No wonder he wasn't in a rush.
That child is already three years old. It should be quite a surprise.
Looking out at the neon lights in the night, I stood up and dumped the food into the trash.
