He didn’t knock.
That had been the instruction.
Carter let himself into Ava’s apartment with the quiet confidence of someone returning home after a long absence. Not cautious. Not rushed. The door closed behind him with a soft, deliberate click, and he paused just long enough for the silence to settle around him.
The apartment greeted him exactly as she’d described.
Muted light filtered through sheer curtains, softening the edges of the space. Clean lines, warm wood, an intentional lack of clutter. Everything had a place, even the absence of things. The air smelled faintly of cedar and honey. It was grounded and warm and unmistakably hers. It was the scent of someone who lived alone and had made peace with it, even if the peace sometimes felt thin.
He slipped off his shoes near the door, as if he’d done it a hundred times before.
Ava stood in the kitchen with her back to him, one hip resting lightly against the counter, a glass of wine forgotten in her hand. She hadn’t turned when the door opened. She hadn’t needed to. She felt him enter the space the way you feel a storm arrive before the rain begins, subtle pressure with a shift in the air.
She didn’t look at him.
That, too, had been part of the rules.
He crossed the room slowly, not invading her space, not hanging back either. Ava watched him from the corner of her eye, taking in the reflection of him in the darkened window instead of turning outright. He was much taller than she’d expected, even after studying the photos. He moved like he knew exactly how much room he occupied and chose to take up every inch of it.
She set the glass down and folded her arms loosely, not defensive, just contained.
“You remember the rules,” she asked.
“I do.”
“No introductions.”
“I know.”
“No awkwardness.”
A faint smile touched his mouth, gone almost as soon as it appeared. “I don’t do awkward.”
“No intimate eye contact.”
That one lingered.
He stopped a few feet behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat of him, the subtle shift in the room as his presence settled. His scent was expensive, understated and layered itself over hers without overpowering it.
“Understood,” he said.
She turned then, just enough to face him without lifting her gaze. Her eyes fixed somewhere near his collarbone and the line of his throat. Close enough to feel intimate. Distant enough to remain controlled.
Ava was petite, almost fragile looking in her stillness, but there was nothing delicate about the way she held herself. Pale skin, light catching in her long, softly waved almond coloured hair, with subtle highlights effortlessly blending the wisdom age blessed her with. She wore something simple and elegant without trying. Green. Of course it was green, his favourite colour. It clung to her like it belonged to her.
Her eyes a serine shade of blue, lips a teasing shade of pink sculpted in the perfect pout. Light freckles sprinkled upon her skin. She was beautiful in the simplest way.
He wondered if she knew how striking she was.
He suspected she didn’t.
“You can kiss me,” she said matter of fact.
He didn’t hesitate.
Carter closed the distance between them and lifted a hand to her jaw, fingers warm and steady. He tilted her face up without forcing her to meet his eyes, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth as if testing the truth of her words.
The kiss wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t performative. It was deep, unhurried and deliberate. The kind of kiss that assumed consent rather than seeking it aloud. Ava inhaled sharply, her composure faltering just enough to tell him he’d done it right.
She tasted like wine and restraint.
Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt, not pulling him closer, not pushing him away. Allowing.
When he pulled back, just barely, her breath followed him.
“No parts of me are off limits,” she said quietly, voice steadier than she felt.
He nodded once. No questions. No commentary.
“Control matters to you,” he said instead.
“Yes.”
“But you want to feel like you’ve lost it.”
Her lips curved, sharp and knowing. “That’s the paradox.”
He smiled then, slow and genuine. “I’m good with paradoxes.”
They moved through the apartment together without touching each other for a moment, an intentional absence that hummed louder than contact. She showed him the bedroom with a flick of her wrist, the bathroom with a glance over her shoulder and he followed like he already knew the way.
On the small console table near the door sat the tray.
Silver. Simple. Inside it, neatly stacked, was the money. No envelope. No apology. No shame.
“You’ll find that on your way out,” she said.
“You can stay the night. You don’t have to talk. You can, if you want to. I won’t ask for anything you don’t offer.”
“And you won’t get anything you can’t afford,” he said gently.
Her eyes flicked to his face for half a second before she caught herself and looked away again.
“Of course”
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Two people standing on the edge of something they were pretending was simple.
Carter reached out, his fingers brushed her wrist, warm and grounding. He felt her pulse jump beneath his touch.
“Now come here,” he said softly.
Not a command.
An invitation.
And Ava, who had spent years planning every moment, carrying every emotional weight, learning not to expect more than she was given, stepped towards him willingly then stopped.
Feet frozen in place by an imaginary line she struggled to cross.