Four months passed like pages torn from a calendar—quiet, consistent, and strangely full. Selena had settled into life with the Millers like she'd always belonged. She knew where they kept the coffee filters. She knew which drawer creaked when pulled too fast. She knew that Jennette loved sleeping in on Sundays, and Sam listened to jazz when he cleaned.
It was the kind of stability that felt both foreign and safe. Like standing on solid ground after being at sea.
They were a routine now. A rhythm. A trio.
She worked hard at the laundry shop, took on extra shifts when deliveries piled up, and learned how to run the iron press without scorching sleeves. She even managed to put away a little money each week, slowly building a savings envelope she kept tucked in a shoebox in the back of her closet.
--
It was early, the apartment still dim and cool. Sam was already awake, sitting at the dining table in a faded black T-shirt, sipping from a chipped mug and skimming through his tablet. The morning smelled like toast crumbs and instant coffee.
He heard her door creak open.
He didn't think much of it at first. Selena usually got up a little later, but maybe she had an early delivery or just needed time to fully wake, but then she stepped out.
Hair tousled, wild from sleep. She wore an oversized, worn T-shirt that hung low on her hips. It clung in some places and floated in others, revealing long bare legs and the distinct, soft sway of her chest beneath the thin cotton. From Sam's side, he could see that she wasn't wearing a bra.
Sam looked up. And for a moment, just a moment, he forgot where he was.
His thoughts were completely, undeniably elsewhere.
The stretch of her silhouette. The curve of her collarbone. The slight line of her thighs as she padded across the room barefoot, yawning and blinking like a sleepy cat.
"Morning," she said with a soft voice, her eyes half-lidded.
Sam blinked.
"Morning," he echoed, trying not to sound like he'd been struck dumb.
Selena didn't notice. She disappeared down the hall toward the bathroom, door clicking softly shut behind her.
Sam sat there, staring at his untouched coffee, the tablet still open in front of him, but the words a blur. He exhaled slowly, rubbing his face with both hands.
Damn.
That shouldn't have happened. Not in this house. Not with her.
But it did.
Not because she tried. Not because she meant to. But because she was… her. And lately, he'd started noticing things he didn't before.
The way she hummed off-key when she folded laundry. She tucked a pen behind her ear while updating the customer log. The way her laugh always took a second longer to arrive, like she waited to make sure it was safe. She had grown into the corners of his life quietly without him even noticing.
He sipped his coffee. It tasted bitter now.
Ten minutes later, Selena reappeared, this time with wet hair slicked back and wearing clean jeans and a dark gray blouse tucked neatly at the front. She looked more herself again; sharp-eyed, soft-lipped, fresh.
She joined Jennette in the kitchen, where the other woman was pulling eggs from the fridge and buttering toast.
"Want to scramble these?" Jennette asked without looking up.
"Sure," Selena said, grabbing a whisk.
The two women moved around each other comfortably, the way people do after months of shared mornings. Sam, meanwhile, busied himself tidying up the dining table, pretending not to glance over.
"Coffee?" Jennette offered.
"Yes, please," Selena replied, still half-drying her hair with a towel.
Jennette poured her a cup while Selena stirred eggs into a small bowl, her hips resting against the counter. Sam caught himself watching the way she bit her lip in concentration.
When she caught him looking, she casually smiled.
He looked away quickly, nodding to his watch.
"We should leave in twenty. You wanna ride with me?"
"Sure," Selena said.
They always went to work together. It was efficient. Smart. Normal. And somehow, it didn't feel normal this morning. The ride to Miller's Wash & Fold was filled with quiet radio and polite small talk.
Selena sipped from her travel mug and stared out the passenger window, mentally reviewing the client list for the day. They had three drop-offs and a bulk order from the tailor two blocks over. It would be a long day. She liked long days.
Sam kept his eyes on the road.
He felt… different now. Not tense, exactly. But aware. Heightened. Like the cabin of the truck was filled with something unsaid.
He hated it.
Not because he regretted the feeling, but because he didn't know what to do with it.
She worked with him. Lived with him. She'd trusted him when she had nothing. How the hell could he even entertain something else? But then again, what if it wasn't just him? What if she felt it too?
He shook the thought loose.
Focus. Laundry. Business. That's what today was about.
At the shop, everything went back to normal.
Selena swept the floor while Sam sorted a last-minute rush order. They made jokes about coffee stains and questioned why every man in Queens owned the same kind of boxer briefs. Jennette popped in after lunch with her usual grin and another bag of sandwiches.
The world kept moving.
But something inside Sam had shifted.
It was in the glance he caught of her wiping sweat from her neck. In the shared laughter over a folded bedsheet. In the silence that stretched between them, just a little longer than necessary.
Selena, on the other hand, didn't seem to notice.
That night, back at the apartment, they all sat around the living room after dinner—Jennette scrolling through her phone, Sam half-watching a documentary on mute, and Selena curled up with a paperback and her knees drawn to her chest.
The soft domestic hum of things they'd come to rely on.
Sam caught a glimpse of her in the lamplight, barefoot again, hair tied up this time, reading a thriller like she always did when she needed to quiet her mind. And in that instant, he felt something gentle and electric all at once.
Not lust. Not fantasy.
Just a whisper of what if.
He swallowed the thought and went back to his screen.