Anthony's POV
I didn't plan to walk to her door. I told myself I was just dropping off the paperwork — quick handoff, no lingering. But the truth was, I needed to see her. Even if it was just her shadow behind the glass.
Precela wasn't home. I figured that out when I saw Camila through the front window, pacing with her phone, still in pajama shorts and a loose tee like she'd rolled out of bed just to babysit the house.
She spotted me before I could knock.
Her brow arched. "Anthony?"
I held up the folder. "These are for your mom. From Dean."
A pause. Then she unlocked the door and stepped aside, polite but distant — that careful line we'd both drawn and redrawn since the breakup.
"You can come in. I'm stuck here waiting for some delivery anyway."
I followed her inside. Same smell as always — clean linen, warm citrus, a hint of whatever she put in her hair. Familiar enough to make my chest ache.
We sat for a minute in the living room. Small talk floated between us like dust in the sunbeams — light, harmless. I asked about her classes. She asked about my internship.
"You want something to drink?" she asked, standing.
"Sure," I said, because "no" felt too final.
She moved toward the kitchen, and I followed more out of instinct than intention. While she reached into the cabinet above her head, I noticed the corner door still hanging open.
Without thinking, I stepped forward and reached up behind her to push it closed.
Click.
She turned at the same moment — too quickly.
Suddenly, we were close. Too close. Her back was against the kitchen island. My hand still hovered near the cabinet door. The space between us felt impossibly small.
Her eyes locked on mine, and I saw it — that flicker of something unspoken, the emotional stir we always tried to bury under logic and pride.
I didn't move. Neither did she.
"You always had a thing for trapping me in kitchens," she muttered.
I smirked. "You always had a thing for pretending you hated it."
She scoffed, trying to shove past me, but I didn't budge.
"You're not funny," she said, though her voice betrayed her. A crack at the edge.
"I don't have to be. You're blushing."
She opened her mouth — probably to argue — but nothing came out. My gaze dropped, just for a second, to her lips. Then back up.
Dangerous.
Then my phone buzzed in my back pocket.
Kara. Talk about bad timing
I didn't step away.
I answered the call with one hand while the other hovered near Camila's arm, like letting go wasn't part of the plan.
"Yeah?" I said, eyes still on her.
Kara's voice buzzed through the phone — something about a project update, needing files, typical perfectionist panic. I nodded to no one, swallowing the knot in my throat.
"Yeah, I've got them. I'll send them soon. I… I have to go."
Still looking at her.
Still not moving.
"I'll call you later," I said — but it wasn't clear who I was saying it to anymore.
I ended the call.
And then, without thinking, I stepped forward. One hand lifted — muscle memory — and I cupped Camila's face gently, like I'd done a hundred times before when we were still "us."
Her breath caught, but she didn't stop me.
And I kissed her forehead.
Soft. Thoughtless. Like breathing.
Then I turned and walked out — quickly, before I could rethink it, before she could say anything, before I realized what I'd just done.
It wasn't until I hit the front steps that it sank in.
I hadn't meant to kiss her.
It had just… happened.
I looked back once — but the door was already shut.
And I'd left the folder behind.
But somehow, that wasn't what I was thinking about at all.
Camila's POV
I hadn't moved.
Anthony had just kissed my forehead.
My heart sank—and then butterflies took my stomach like a storm.
I was still trying to process what had just happened when my phone buzzed. It was Julia.
Julia:"I'm on my way over. Milkshake and smoothie in hand!"
She arrived about twelve minutes later, bursting through the door the way she always did—like a storm wrapped in confidence, holding two drinks like trophies.
Julia:"Vanilla for you, strawberry banana for me!"
I gave her a small smile as I took the milkshake. She flopped onto the couch beside me, kicked off her shoes, and got comfortable.
We talked. Or rather, she talked—I listened, half-aware. She told me about her ongoing chaos with Antwan and Tyler, how things had been messy, and how she was finally finding her footing in something that resembled a real relationship.
Somewhere mid-conversation, I drifted.
Julia:"Okay. You've spaced out three times in ten minutes."
I blinked.
Me:"I'm fine."
She raised an eyebrow.
Julia:"Girl. I can see through you like glass, but fine. I won't press. Yet."
We chatted a bit more—about life, about nothing—and decided to bake cupcakes. The house smelled like vanilla and chocolate, and for a moment, I felt light again.
That familiar roar of Tyler's motorcycle reached my ears before Julia heard it.
Me:"Your ride's here."
She grinned.
Tyler walked right in like he owned the place, as usual. He went straight to Julia and kissed her like no one else was in the room.
When they finally pulled apart, she was blushing furiously.
Tyler:"Hey, Cam."
He ruffled my hair like I was his little sister, then stole a cupcake from the tray.
Me:"Those are for Julia."
Tyler:"She'll survive."
We all laughed and hung out a little longer. Tyler was surprisingly chill today—maybe because Julia was glowing and for once, not sad or frustrated.
Eventually, they left together.
The house was quiet again.
I was alone.
And back to thinking about Anthony.
Sigh I convinced my self that it didn't mean anything
I suddenly realized that the delivery i was waiting for still hadn't gotten here it should have
I picked up my phone to call mom
It rang out with no answer
The day ran away with its events and so did my mind and old habit of mine