Page 23 of Rising Heat

I grab a smaller box and follow him inside before my brain can wander any farther off course.

Inside, the house feels different today—less borrowed. My boots leave damp half-moons on the hardwood just inside the door before I catch myself and scuff them on the mat.

Mine, a small voice says.

Or it will be.

Tyler glances back as he starts up the stairs.

“Mack’s on shift, so you’re spared his inevitable lecture about lifting with your knees.”

“Mack?”

“My brother.”

“Oh right. What kind of shift, like ER or something?”

“Firehouse,” Tyler chuckles.

“He’s a firefighter?”

“So am I. He just got the unfortunate burden of being the more responsible one.”

“That explains the ego.”

Tyler barks out another laugh.

“Unbelievable.”

“You asked for it.”

“Fair.”

Somewhere between the second trip and the fifth, we stop doing that careful thing people do when they don’t know each other yet. The pauses disappear. A joke becomes a story becomes an argument about whether Philadelphia drivers are worse than Boston drivers, which they obviously aren’t because Boston drivers appear to be operating under a completely different set of traffic laws.

Carrying the last few boxes feels less like making conversation and more like continuing one. The whole thing catches me off guard. Flirting, I know how to handle. I have an entire system.

This doesn’t feel like that.

“That’s the last of it.”

I look around at the stacks crowding the edges of the room. The apartment already feels fuller somehow. Less echo, less blank, more…mine.

“Congratulations. You officially own more things than I expected.”

“It feels like you’re judging.”

“I’m mostly impressed.” He pauses. “Don’t move.”

“That’s ominous.”

“Try not to bond with the plant while I’m gone.”

Before I can ask where he’s going, he’s already halfway down the stairs.

The apartment settles around me after he leaves. Rain taps steadily against the windows, boxes line the walls, and the pipes click somewhere in the background while I stand in the middle of it all with my coat still on and my keys clenched in one hand.

For the first time all day, there’s nothing left to carry or sign. It’s just me and my new space. The thought sneaks up on me enough that I have to press the heels of my hands against my cheeks.