Page 143 of Stranger to Love

Carrie smirked, and I caught a familiar, calculating glint in her eye—the "Dr. Carter" look that said she was already ten steps ahead. But when she turned back to me, the guilt returned tenfold.

“Are you staying for dinner, Caroline?” my Dad shouted over his shoulder as he headed toward the house.

Carrie didn't miss a beat. “No, thank you, Phil. I should get back. There’s a lot to do before the University term begins. Isn't that right, Alex?”

The words were a polite fucking twist of the knife. I wanted the ground to swallow me whole. “Yeah,” I managed weakly.

My Dad disappeared inside, oblivious to the fact that the atmosphere out here had turned back to ice.

I tightened my grip on the straps of my backpack, the weight of it feeling like a fucking barrier I'd built between us. "Thank you," I whispered, the words feeling pitifully small. "For everything."

Carrie looked at me, and the expression was so pained, so uncharacteristically raw, that I couldn't fucking breathe. It was the look of someone who had started to trust the ground beneath her feet only to feel it start to crumble.

"It’s been the best Christmas and New Year of my life," I added quickly, my voice thick. "Truly."

I saw her shoulders ease just a fraction, the rigid line of her spine softening. Don’t be a fucking idiot, Alex. Do something.

I reached out, sliding my arm around her waist. It was a bold move out here in the open, in front of my house, but I didn't care. I pulled her closer, needing to feel the heat of her body against mine. Carrie didn't resist; she let me tuck myself into her side, but she raised a single, elegant eyebrow—a silent, sharp demand for the truth.

I leaned up, my lips brushing against her ear so the fucking neighbours—and my Dad—wouldn't accidentally hear. "I need this," I whispered, my breath hitching. "I need to get back into a routine so I don't lose my mind. But that doesn't mean I’m leaving you."

I pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes, trying to convey everything Mia had nearly made me fucking doubt. "I’m going to be counting down every single minute until I see your car pull up after my shift tomorrow night. Every. Single. One."

The mask finally cracked. Carrie’s hand came up, her fingers grazing the back of my neck, her thumb pressing firmly against the sensitive skin behind my ear—a possessive, grounding touch that made my knees fucking weak.

"Is that right?" she murmured, her voice regaining that dark, velvety edge that told me I was still hers. "Because I find myself rather unaccustomed to an empty house, Alex. I suggest you spend those minutes thinking very carefully about how you intend to make up for this... sudden departure."

She didn't wait for an answer. She leaned in, pressing a brief, firm kiss to the corner of my mouth—deliberate enough to be a brand, but fleeting enough to leave me fucking starving.

"Tomorrow night," she said, her tone a promise and a threat all at once. "Don't be late."

A laugh bubbled up in my chest, more out of fucking relief than anything else. "Nope," I said, my voice gaining a bit of its usual spark. "I’m not spending an entire day without a proper kiss. I won’t survive the shift."

Before she could protest or play the cool professional, I hooked my fingers into the lapels of her trench coat and pulled her toward me. It was not a polite fucking peck. I kissed her with everything I had been overthinking for the last hour—the love, the fear, and the desperate need to stay anchored to her. For a second, Carrie tensed, caught off guard by my sudden boldness on a public street, but then she melted. Her hand slid into my hair, pulling me flush against her, and for a heartbeat, the world around my parents' door simply ceased to exist.

When I finally pulled back, breathless and a little fucking dizzy, Carrie was flushed. Her pupils were blown wide, and her smirk was back—that dangerous, predatory little curve of her lips that made my pulse spike.

"Go inside, Alex," she murmured, her voice vibrating with a subsonic threat. "Because if you stay out here for one more second, I’m going to put you back in that car, take you home, and lock you in for good. You won't see the outside of my bedroom until February."

I shivered, and we both knew it wasn't from the January chill. "Is that a promise?" I teased, though my heart was fucking hammering against my ribs.

"It’s a warning," she countered, though the fondness in her eyes gave her away. "Now, move. Before I lose my legendary self-control."

I reluctantly let go of her coat and started backing toward the front door, my eyes never leaving hers. "Tomorrow night, Carrie. Don't be late."

"I am never late, darling," she said, already stepping back toward the driver's side with that effortless grace.

I watched her pull away, the sleek tail-lights of her car disappearing around the corner. The silence of the street felt heavier now, but the fucking nausea was gone. Mia’s voice was still a dull echo in the back of my mind, but as I turned the key in my own front door, all I could think about was the heat of Carrie’s hand on my neck and the fact that I had twenty-four hours to figure out how to tell her I was hers—on my terms or her own.

I stepped inside and shrugged off my jacket, hanging it on the post at the bottom of the stairs. I dropped my bag on the floor and kicked off my shoes, the familiar, slightly worn scent of home wrapping around me. My dad was already in the kitchen, the whistle of the kettle a steady, domestic hum.

I headed into the lounge and found my mum settled comfortably on one of the sofas Carrie had bought, watching the TV that Carrie had also provided. Seeing her look so at home amidst those gifts made my chest fucking flutter again.

“Hi, love." My mum smiled, and thank fuck, there was actual colour in her cheeks today.

I sank onto the cushion beside her. “Hey. How are you feeling?”

"I think I’m having a good day," she said, a soft smile playing on her lips as she muted the TV.