Chapter 6: An Unexpected Visitor
The week that followed was a strange, pleasant fever dream. The unspoken rule held: no strings. But strings, Aidan was learning, were sneaky things. They were in the second toothbrush that appeared next to his in the mug. They were in the half-finished cartoon of a grumpy badger she’d left taped to the fridge. They were in the easy silence that filled the apartment, a silence that felt like sharing a blanket rather than an absence of sound.
It was Saturday morning. Aidan was shirtless, scrambling eggs in a chipped ceramic bowl. The single bulb above the counter flickered, casting a warm, uneven light over the scatter of coffee mugs and a forgotten plate of toast crusts. The air smelled of butter and the vanilla-cinnamon candle Catriona insisted on burning at all hours.
She padded in, wearing one of his old t-shirts and nothing else. Her hair was a magnificent riot of red against the grey cotton. She didn’t say good morning. She just walked up behind him, slid her arms around his waist, and pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades. A string.
“You burn these, I’m evicting you,” she mumbled into his back, her voice thick with sleep.
“You can’t evict me. I’m on the lease.”
“I’ll change the locks while you’re at the observatory. Claim hostile architectural takeover.” She released him and hoisted herself onto the clear corner of the counter, watching him. Her thighs stretched the hem of the shirt.
He poured the eggs into the sizzling pan. “You finished the badger.”
“His name is Reginald. He’s perpetually disappointed by the lack of pastries in this establishment.” She swung her feet, her heels tapping a soft rhythm against the cabinet door. “What’s the plan today? Big, important star business?”
“Actually, yes. Calibrating some sensor data. Very glamorous. You? Conquering the freelance art world?”
“A dragon commission for a fantasy novel cover. Client wants ‘less menace, more emotional ambiguity.’” She made air quotes, rolling her eyes. “So, you know. Drawing a sad lizard.”
He laughed, dividing the fluffy eggs onto two plates. He handed her one, their fingers brushing. Another string. They ate standing up in the kitchen, the companionable crunch of toast between them. She stole a piece of his bacon. He didn’t mind.
That’s when the knock came. Three firm, confident raps on the front door.
Catriona froze, a forkful of egg halfway to her mouth. “You expecting someone?”
“No.” Aidan set his plate down. “Package?”
“On a Saturday?” She slid off the counter, her bare feet quiet on the linoleum. She peered down the hall toward the door, then shrugged. “Probably a missionary. Or the downstairs neighbor complaining about the shower water again.”
She walked down the short hall, pulling the t-shirt down over her thighs. Aidan stayed in the kitchen, taking a swig of orange juice. He heard the deadbolt click, the door swing open.
Then, silence. A thick, wrong silence.
“Liam.” Catriona’s voice wasn’t the one she used with him. It was cooler, flatter. A public voice.
Aidan put the juice carton down slowly.
“Cat.” A man’s voice, smooth, edged with nervous warmth. “You look… amazing. God, it’s good to see you.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I tried calling. Texting. You… you changed your number.” A pause. “I brought these. I remember you love the burgundy ones.” The rustle of cellophane. Roses.
Aidan didn’t mean to move. But his feet carried him to the doorway of the kitchen, giving him a view down the hall. Catriona stood in the open doorway, backlit by the grey morning light from the stairwell. A tall figure, broad in the shoulders, filled the space. He held a lavish bouquet of deep red roses. His hair was perfectly tousled, his jacket expensive-looking. Liam.
“Yeah, I did change it,” Catriona said, crossing her arms. The posture made the t-shirt stretch tight. “That’s usually the hint, Liam.”
“I know. I know I messed up. The gallery thing, the party… I was an idiot. A stressed, jealous idiot.” Liam’s voice dipped, practiced in its sincerity. “Six months, Cat. It’s been six months, and I haven’t stopped thinking about you. I want to fix this. I want to try again.”
Catriona let out a short, breathless laugh. It held no humor. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’ve never been more serious. Let me take you to brunch. We can talk. Just talk.”
That’s when Liam’s gaze, desperate and pleading, slid past Catriona. It landed on Aidan, standing in the kitchen doorway, bare-chested, sleep-rumpled, holding a plate of eggs.
Liam’s face changed. The earnest pleading melted away, replaced by a slow-dawning confusion that hardened into something cold and sharp. His eyes flicked from Aidan to Catriona, taking in her state of undress, the intimacy of the scene he’d interrupted.
“Oh,” Liam said. The single syllable was ice.
Catriona didn’t turn. She held Liam’s gaze, her chin lifting a fraction. Aidan saw the line of her spine go rigid.
“Who’s this?” Liam asked, his voice now dangerously quiet.
“This is Aidan,” Catriona said, the public voice cracking slightly. “My roommate.”
“Roommate.” Liam repeated the word like it was in a foreign language. His smile was a thin, terrible line. “Right. I see how it is. Rebound. Convenient.”
A hot, coppery wave flooded Aidan’s chest. It wasn’t just jealousy. It was possessiveness, a raw, territorial urge that shocked him with its intensity. The ‘no strings’ frayed and snapped. This man, with his perfect hair and his sorry roses, was looking at what was his. The thought was primitive, undeniable.
Aidan didn’t speak. He just leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, his own quiet statement. He watched the struggle on Catriona’s face.
She turned then, finally, to look at Aidan. Her green eyes were wide, a storm of apology and defiance and something else—a question. In that glance, she handed him the script. He could retreat, play the casual roommate, defuse the situation. Or he could step into the line.
He stayed where he was.
Catriona turned back to Liam. “You should go.”
“Is he why you won’t even talk to me?” Liam’s composure was crumbling, his voice rising. “This is what you replaced me with? Some guy you just moved in with?”
“It’s not like that,” she said, but the words sounded weak, even to Aidan.
“It looks exactly like that!” Liam’s laugh was harsh. “You know what, fine. Have fun with your roommate.” He thrust the roses at her. She didn’t take them. They fell between them, landing on the scuffed floorboards with a soft, pathetic thud.
He turned and disappeared down the stairwell, his footsteps angry and retreating.
Catriona stared at the fallen bouquet. She slowly pushed the door closed, locking it with a final, heavy click. The hallway was plunged back into dim, warm light from the kitchen.
She didn’t move for a long moment. Then she bent, picked up the roses, and walked past Aidan into the kitchen. He followed. She dumped them in the trash can under the sink, shoving them down among coffee grounds and eggshells.
The silence now was different. Crackling. Loaded.
She leaned against the counter, arms wrapped around herself. “Well,” she said, her voice artificially bright. “That was… a thing that happened.”
“Ex-boyfriend,” Aidan stated. It wasn’t a question.
“The one before the guy who moved to Portland. Yeah.” She chewed her thumbnail, a habit he’d never seen before. “Sorry about that. The drama. Not really part of the ‘easy roommate’ package, is it?”
He ignored the question. “He wanted you back.”
“He wanted the idea of me back. There’s a difference.” She finally looked at him. “You didn’t have to… you know. Stand there like a… silent, shirtless monument.”
“What did you want me to do?”
“I don’t know.” She threw her hands up. “Maybe put on a shirt? Hide? Make us both a cup of tea and pretend none of this is happening?”
“Is that what you wanted?” He took a step closer. The electricity from the confrontation was still in the air, arcing between them. “You handed him the ‘roommate’ line. I just stood in the room I pay rent for.”
Her gaze dropped to his chest, then back to his face. The defiance was returning, mixed with a new, wary heat. “You looked pretty comfortable standing there.”
“You looked pretty comfortable wearing my shirt.”
A slow smile touched her lips, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s a good shirt.”
He reached out then, not thinking, and hooked a finger under the crumpled collar. He tugged her forward, just an inch. She came without resistance, her breath catching.
“Rebound?” he asked, his voice low. “Convenient?”
Her eyes searched his. All the glib answers, the easy labels, seemed to die on her tongue. The kitchen clock ticked loudly in the quiet.
The kiss wasn’t like the others. It wasn’t hungry or exploratory or playful. It was a claim. Her hands fisted in his hair, pulling him closer. He backed her against the counter, the edge digging into her hips, and she gasped into his mouth. It was all tongue and teeth and the taste of cold coffee and a fury that had nowhere else to go.
When they broke apart, both were breathing hard. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips swollen.
“We should probably talk,” she whispered, but her hands were sliding down his back, under the waistband of his pajama pants.
“Later,” he murmured against her neck, and hoisted her up onto the counter where the eggs had been, sending their empty plates clattering into the sink. The forgotten badger drawing watched from the fridge, perpetually disappointed, as Aidan pushed the t-shirt up her thighs and she pulled him in, erasing the ghost of Liam and his roses with something fiercely, undeniably present.