There were some mornings when Sam woke up and barely remembered a time before Selena became part of the picture. She had eased into their lives so gradually that she felt almost woven into the fabric now, just there, like the soft scrape of toast in the kitchen, or the way Jennette always left the sugar canister open. Quiet presence, a constant rhythm.
But ever since that very morning when she stumbled out of her room half-asleep, in a baggy T-shirt that clung just right in all the wrong places, with no bra and hair still tangled from sleep, things inside him had shifted. And try as he might, he couldn't shift them back.
It hadn't been intentional. At least not on her part.
She didn't move like someone trying to get attention. She didn't carry herself like someone playing a game. She was just natural, unbothered, and free.
And the most dangerous thing of all, because Sam noticed everything now. The things he hadn't allowed himself to see before, like the way she brushed a lock of hair behind her ear when she was focused on counting tips, or the way her eyes softened when she talked to Jennette over breakfast. Or how her jeans always rode a little low when she reached up to grab towels from the top shelf in the back room. He noticed her in the way that a man notices something he knows he shouldn't want, but does anyway. And he hated that about himself. But hate wasn't quite the right word. It was something more twisted. Something warmer. Something that pressed down on him in moments of stillness, like right now, as he stood behind the counter of the laundry shop, pretending to rearrange hangers while watching her work in the back.
She was bent slightly over the folding table, sorting a fresh load of laundry into separate piles. Whites, colors, darks. Her hands moved with the kind of efficiency that only came from repetition, but there was still grace in the motion, an unconscious femininity in the way her fingers tugged at fabric, her hips shifting as she adjusted her weight from one foot to the other.
It was ordinary and innocent. And yet it held him there like a hook in the ribs.
He swallowed hard, shaking the thought from his head, but it didn't go far. Nothing really did these days.
"Need help back there?" he asked, trying to sound casual, but his voice came out lower than usual, roughened by something he didn't name.
Selena turned just enough to glance over her shoulder, her lips curving softly in recognition.
"You bored up front already?" she asked, teasing but light.
Sam didn't answer, just walked toward her and reached into the basket beside her for a towel. As he folded it, he made sure to stand close. Not overtly inappropriate, but near enough that their arms brushed as they worked side by side.
She didn't pull away.
He wasn't sure if she noticed or if she was just used to him by now. But either way, she didn't shift, didn't flinch, didn't break the rhythm.
And that was all it took. That small lack of resistance. That soft space between them.
It sent his mind spiraling.
Later that afternoon, a customer came in looking for a missing garment. Sam handed things off to Selena, as she was the one who logged the deliveries that morning. She nodded and headed toward the back to check the high shelf where overflow orders were stored.
He followed, claiming he needed to restock plastic wrap for the folded items. Truthfully, he just wanted to be near her again.
The space between the shelf and the wall was narrow, barely enough for one person, let alone two.
When she reached up to pull down a bag marked "Thomas / 2-Day Express," her back arched slightly with the stretch. Sam didn't step away. He stayed behind her, breathing in the faint trace of soap and fabric softener that clung to her skin.
And then, deliberately, gently, he let his hand rest against the side of her hip. Not forceful, not lingering too long. She stilled, frozen in that small moment. Then she turned her head slightly, just enough to catch his expression out of the corner of her eye.
Her lips parted, but no words came. And for a breathless second, neither of them moved.
He stepped back first, grabbing a roll of wrap from the shelf behind him like nothing had happened. She lowered the laundry bag and turned back toward the front without speaking.
Something unspoken and real.
They closed shop an hour later, the air thick with the kind of tension that hangs in the silence between two people who can't quite name what they're holding.
Selena wiped down the counter as Sam ran the final receipt. She moved slower than usual, more deliberate, like her thoughts were elsewhere. She folded the cloth in half, then quarters, her fingers smoothing the surface like she needed something tactile to ground her. Then she glanced up and caught him watching. She didn't smile this time. She just held his gaze. This time, it didn't feel like an invitation, but it wasn't a warning either.
And that—that—was the most dangerous part of all.
Back at the apartment, they fell into the usual rhythm. Jennette was already in bed by the time they got home. Working as an elementary teacher is exhausting for her, but she loves doing it.
--
The hallway was dimly lit, and soft music was playing from her side of the house. Selena moved to the kitchen to fill a glass of water. Sam leaned against the counter, pretending to look at his phone.
She wore leggings and a loose t-shirt, something about the moon and stars printed across the front. Her hair was tied in a low bun, damp from a quick shower.
He looked at her longer than he should have, and she caught him again. She raised her glass, tipped it toward him in a silent goodnight, and walked to her room.
Sam stayed in the kitchen, his heart thudding too loudly in his chest, hands wrapped too tightly around a mug he didn't need, and watched Selena's door a little too long than it was supposed to.